


When Two Souls Meet (Sans x Reader)

by Zana_B_Sparrows



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Altered Neutral Route (Undertale), F/M, Fanfiction, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 127,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zana_B_Sparrows/pseuds/Zana_B_Sparrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans has lived through countless timelines. He's seen the kid make friends with everyone, only to give up in the final moments. He's seen the kid killed, over and over and over again. Sometimes, he'd even done the killing himself. And no one ever remembers. Not even the kid herself. It's an exhausting cycle, one that never seems to end. But there's something different about this run. Another human's fallen down... the kid's sister.</p>
<p>(There may or may not be a lemon later on. I haven't decided.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Those Who Climb the Mountain... (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> All characters used in this belong to Toby Fox, the owner of Undertale.

 

Your Perspective

 

**_Long ago, two races ruled over the Earth: humans and monsters._ **

**_One day, war broke out between the two races._ **

**_After a long battle, the humans were victorious._ **

**_They sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell._ **

 

            Frisk’s favorite bedtime story is open in your lap, its words so deeply ingrained in you that you hardly have to read them anymore. Usually, they’re familiar, comforting. This book, with its well-worn pages and yellow-stained pictures, has been in your family for as long as you can remember. It was read to you when you were little, just as you now read it to Frisk every night. Today, however, your hands are trembling as you turn its pages.

 

**_Legends say that those who climb the mountain never return…_ **

****

            You freeze, those last few words taking on an eerie significance.

            “Those who climb the mountain… never return,” you echo numbly. A shiver runs unbidden down your spine, and in a sudden flash of anger, you slam the book shut and shove it haphazardly back into Frisk’s bookcase. It was a stupid idea, reading something like that at a time like this.

            _It’s not real,_ you reassure yourself as you storm out of Frisk’s room. _It’s_ not. _It’s just a stupid fairytale._

As you walk into your cabin’s living room, however, it gets harder and harder to ignore the uneasy feeling gathering in your chest. The room is too large without her here, too quiet. Not even the unending stream of sunlight inundating through the windows can dispel the emptiness… the stillness. You can’t stand the stillness.

            You walk over to the grand piano that occupies most of the room, your fingertips easily finding their place on its white ivory keys. When you start playing, it becomes just a little bit easier to ignore the fear that’s started to take root in you. You lose yourself in the music, closing your eyes against the emptiness of the room.

            You instinctively start playing Decretum. You tend to play the same songs over and over, so Frisk had started pestering you to add to the collection—this beautiful, yet stirring masterpiece was the result. About halfway through the song, you take a breath to ask Frisk how you sound. The moment you do, however, the shakiness returns to your hands, and your fingers slip on the keys as reality comes crashing back down on you.

            It’s been two days. Two days, and she still hasn’t come back.

            _There’s no reason to panic,_ you tell yourself, trying in vain to calm down. _This isn’t the first time something like this has happened._

Indeed, Frisk has been exploring the mountain on which you live since the moment she could walk, and it’s not the first time that she’s gone too far. You know that your sister is tough for a kid, and that she can handle herself, but… it’s never been _this_ long before. You get up from the piano and start to pace around the room, every thought of playing drowned out by the panic that’s slowly consuming you.

            One after another, scenarios are playing themselves out in your mind, each one worse than the last. Frisk lost. Frisk injured in the middle of the woods. Frisk kidnapped. Frisk… somehow managing to reach the top of the mountain, and…

            _It’s just a fairytale,_ you remind yourself. _And the mountaintop is pretty far away._

Yes… but you don’t think it would take her two days to get there. You bite your lip, trying to ignore your instinct to go looking for her. It would cause even more problems if she were to come home and find you missing. As much as it kills you, there’s nothing you can do. Not until you’re sure that Frisk is in real trouble, and that this isn’t just one of her antics.

            You cross into the kitchen. There’s a small pile of presents sitting on the table in preparation for Frisk’s twelfth birthday. She wouldn’t miss her own birthday—she’s been excited about it for weeks. You’d decided this morning that this was the point of no return. If she didn’t show up by lunch toady, when you had planned to have the party, you’d go looking for her. You stare bitterly at the topmost present, deeply regretting your decision to postpone giving the phone to her.


	2. Fallen Down

Your Perspective

 

            You find yourself lying on your back in a small patch of golden flowers. Everything, from your head to your toes, is numb. You stare blankly at the tiny blue circle of sky high above you, trying to register what had just happened. Had you… had you actually fallen?

            When your shock gradually begins to wear off, and your body starts to realize that you are not, in fact, quite as dead as your mind had originally thought, you get your answer. Yes. Yes, you fell. And you should never, ever, try something so stupid again. You grit your teeth as your entire body starts to ache, as though every inch of you is bruised. That’s not surprising. If anything, you’re surprised that you’re still breathing. Looking up at the sky like this, you guess that it’s at least a good hundred feet to the surface.

            _In hindsight,_ you decide, _I didn’t really think that through._

If that’s not an understatement, you don’t know what is. You hadn’t just fallen—you’d _jumped_. It’s starting to come back to you. You’d made it to the summit, only to find one of Frisk’s water bottles discarded next to a massive gorge. Assuming that she had fallen in, you’d decided that the only thing left to do was follow her… even if that meant following her into the next life.

            You shake that thought from your head and painfully get to your feet, staggering a little under the weight of your backpack. You’d always been an over-packer, but you’re somewhat grateful for the fact now. Seeing as this room doesn’t have any stairs in it, you don’t think you’ll be going back to the surface anytime soon.

            _Well,_ you think, once again staring up at the dot of sky high above, _at least I’m closer to finding Frisk._

You’re trying your best to be optimistic, but the reality is that you have no way of knowing if Frisk is even down here… or what lies at the other end of the dark corridor that serves as the room’s only exit. You stare at it for a moment, gathering your courage.

            _Well, here goes nothing…_

You turn your back on the only home you have ever known and step into the darkness, the last light you may ever see slowly fading from view. 

 

***

 

            _This place is weird. Everything is purple. As far as I know, there’s no such thing as naturally colored purple rock. Someone must have gone to a lot of effort to paint this place. And what’s with the pillars? Am I in some kind of ruins? I-I guess that’s pretty cool…_ you ramble. _And those puzzles. I don’t see the point in them, especially if all of them are deactivated…_

            It’s no use. Not even the babbling of your brain can distract you from… from… _it._ The moment you stepped out of that first corridor, a giant frog has been constantly hopping at your side. You glance at it from the corner of your eye, checking if... yep. It’s still staring at you. You shiver as you train your gaze straight ahead, attempting to ignore the oversized amphibian.

 _It’s nothing to worry about—it’s just a giant frog. It’s probably some kind of evolutionary thing,_ you rationalize. _You know… like those fish in subterranean caves that grow without eyes._

            You sneak a sideways glance at the frog, and momentarily meet its large, glassy eyes. There’s almost a sort of… intelligence in them. You quickly look away as sweat starts to form on your forehead.

 _“The humans sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell.”_ The legend’s words spring unbidden into your mind, serving only to make you more anxious.

 _It’s not true. It’s…. it’s not. It can’t be._ Another frog peers at you curiously from the shadows, watching in silence as you pass.

 _There’s no such thing as monsters._ You freeze as a really large, butterfly-like creature flutters across your path, oblivious to you. The moment it catches sight of you, it shrieks and races away, visibly shaking in terror. At this point, so are you.

_I-it… it’s just a really b-big bug. That… that’s all._

            You’re about to take a step forward, but then you notice that next to the bridge you have to cross, there are a pair of… of _things_ quietly murmuring to each other. The only way your mind can process them is by calling them living piles of spaghetti. The frog continues forward, but you don’t move an inch, some primal instinct rooting you to the spot.

_No. Nonononono. There’s no such thing as monsters. There’s no such thing. They don’t exist—they can’t exist. This can’t be happening—_

            Something softly tugs at your pants, shocking you out of your stupor. You go rigid, and then slowly… very slowly… look down. The frog has one manus wrapped in your pant leg, and is staring up at you with a somewhat quizzical look on its face. As if it’s asking you what’s wrong.

            That’s it. You can’t deny it anymore. You sink to the ground and numbly put your head in your hands.

_I’ve fallen… into the world of monsters._

            You look over at the frog as it gently pats your shoulder, as if trying to consol you.

            “Thanks,” you say quietly. You’re not sure whether or not it can understand you, but it smiles at you anyway.

            You take a deep breath and get to your feet. Monsters or not, you need to find your sister. She must be so scared, traveling through a place like this by herself.

            The frog hops ahead, and then turns around to beckon at you from the other side of the stream.

 _And besides,_ you think, hurrying to catch up. _This little guy seems to want to help me. Maybe… maybe monsters aren’t that bad._  

             You follow your guide into the next room, only to find yourself wading through a sea of frogs. Needless to say, you are somewhat taken aback by this.

            “Um… e-excuse me,” you mutter, trying your best not to step on any of them.

            A few turn when they hear your voice, and move to give you room. However, the large majority of the creatures seem to be too focused on something else to pay any attention to you. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but they seem… panicked? The croaks that fill the room are clipped, almost urgent.

            You crane your neck, but there’s too many of them—you can’t see what it is they’re looking at. Your frog stops to listen to the others, and then starts to force its way through the crowd. It calls out, visibly distressed.

_What’s going on?_

            You continue to follow your newfound friend, and as they grow more concerned, so do you. You don’t like the looks of this.

            The two of you eventually reach the center of the ring of frogs, where an injured monster lies on a bed of fallen leaves. It’s another frog, this one much smaller than most of the others. It’s on its back and struggling to right itself, but it doesn’t seem to be able to. As you cautiously draw nearer, you can see why—the poor thing has a jagged hole straight through one of its forelegs.

            Your frog rushes towards it with a cry, only to shrink back when it’s nearly hit by a desperately flailing limb. It’s a sad sight to watch. Your frog continues to cry out, but it only serves to make the smaller frog more agitated. It whimpers and thrashes its head about, but it seems to be too confused to tell where its parent’s call is coming from.

_I have to do something._

            You take off your backpack and hurry forward, before kneeling on the ground in front of the young frog. The moment you touch the leaves, however, you recoil. Their red color had camouflaged the pool of blood surrounding the young frog, and your knee comes away sticky. Resisting the urge to retch, you return to your kneeling position, pulling some bandages you’d packed out of your bag.

            You move slowly, trying not to scare the poor thing. However, the instant you draw near, it lashes out at you with a weak cry, cutting into your skin with claws that you hadn’t known it had. You wince and try again, softly talking to it to try and calm it down. It must be so terrified, and in so much pain… you blink away the tears that spring to your eyes.

            Eventually, the little frog allows you to pick it up. You tie the bandage around its arm as quickly as possible, trying your best not to cause the little thing any more pain than it’s already in. Your job done, you hold your patient out towards your frog, who you can only assume is the little one’s parent. Your frog gratefully takes its child from you, and holds it close. Even with the bandages, you don’t think it has a very good chance of surviving.

            You stand up and turn away, trying to conceal the tears that are now rolling freely down your cheeks. You can’t help it—you inexplicably feel the pain of others as your own. If you were to find Frisk in a state like this… if Frisk is injured down here…

_I… I’m not sure what I’d do._

            The crowd of frogs slowly disperses, leaving the grieving parent and their child be. You want to stay with them, but you know that you have to get moving. You wipe your tears away and kneel again, looking your frog in the eye.

            “Thank you,” you say. “For guiding me.”

            It nods in response, before croaking something back at you. You don’t understand what it said to you, but it you guess that it’s something along the lines of “thank you for helping my child.”

            “I hope they get better soon,” you murmur.

            You stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder. Before you can leave, however, the frog tugs at your pant leg again. You glance down, and see that’s it’s pointing to the room opposite to the one you were about to go into. You never did have a good sense of direction.

            “Thanks,” you murmur.

            You cross into the next room. When you turn to look back at the pair of frogs, you find that they’re already gone.  

**(A few rooms later)**

 

            “The western room is the eastern room’s blueprint,” you read thoughtfully.

 _Again, what is up with these puzzles?_ you ask yourself. You shrug and turn to continue through the room… and jump backwards when something pricks the bottom of your shoe. Spikes. The path is covered in spikes.

 _Of all the puzzles to be activated…_ you think bitterly.

            Remembering the sign’s instructions, you backtrack to the western room, trying to find some kind of clue to the spike puzzle. Nothing sticks out. The room is completely empty, save for some wall creepers. After searching for what seems like hours, you simply regress to staring at the room, hoping that its secrets will magically appear before you. When that doesn’t work, your mind starts to wander.

_Who in the world designed this place? It’s so haphazard—even the paths are confusing. Why does it have to zigzag? This room is completely straight._

            Then, it finally dawns on you. The path is the blueprint. Now that you’d figured it out, it seems so obvious. With a quiet insult at whoever designed the puzzle, you cross back to the eastern room.

_Okay, I guess I just have to…_

            You carefully lower your foot onto one of the spike-covered panels. The spikes retract the moment your foot would have made contact with them.

_Oh, thank Go—_

            An excited shriek sounds from the opposite side of the room, breaking your concentration and almost making you lose your balance. You’re about to hurl one of your rarely used insults at the owner of said voice, but then you realize… it’s a voice you recognize. Your neck cracks with the speed that you raise your head, and your smile is so wide that it could almost split your face in two.

            Standing across the room is your squinty-eyed, blue and purple clad, boot-wearing little sister.

            “Frisk!” you holler. “Frisk!”

            Frisk becomes a blur of movement as she rushes towards you, zigzagging across the spike puzzle with precision that you can’t help but envy. At the last moment, she launches herself at you, tackling you with a hug that literally knocks you over. She squeals into your shirt, and you laugh as you hold her tight against your chest.

            “Frisk, thank God you’re okay. When I found your water bottle, I thought… I thought…”

            Tears suddenly spring to your eyes, and you bury your face in your little sister’s sweater.

_If I lost you…_

            Frisk taps your shoulder. When you don’t move, she becomes more insistent. You sniffle and draw back a little, giving your sister room to talk.

 _“I’m so glad you’re here, big sister!”_ she signs, beaming at you. _“I tried so hard to get back up but—things happened and—I needed a monster’s soul—and I didn’t want to hurt anybody, so—”_

            “Woah, woah, slow down,” you say. She’s signing so quickly that her gestures are getting too sloppy to read. She takes a deep breath, and starts again.

 _“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you once we get to Goat Mom’s,”_ she signs. You blink, wondering if you read that correctly.

            “‘Goat Mom?’” you echo. “Is that a nickname?”

            Nicknames are much easier to use in sign language—it’s tedious to spell out a person’s name over and over again.

            “Mmmhmm,” she says.

 _“T-O-R-I-E-L,”_ she explains. _“She’s a—”_

            A large, furry white creature towers over the two of you, nothing but curved horns and glinting fangs visible in the shadow it creates.   

            “My child, who is this?”


	3. Your New Home

Your Perspective

            You’re sitting down at a kitchen table, a steaming piece of Butterscotch-Cinnamon pie on the table before you. Or, it had been steaming—it took so long for Frisk to tell her story that it’s completely cool now. Not that it really matters to you. You’re still trying to wrap your head around everything your little sister has just told you. And, according to her, it was just the abridged version.

            “So, let me get this straight,” you sigh, resting your elbows on the kitchen table. “After you fell down here, a talking flower—”

_“F-l-o-w-e-y.”_

            “—Flowey, tried to kill you, but you were saved by Toriel.”

            When you bring up her name, the motherly monster nods. Now that you can see her clearly, she doesn’t look nearly as threatening. In fact, she’s downright cuddly—almost like a giant rabbit that had been crossed with a goat. 

            “That’s right, my child,” she says.

            “Then you crossed the entire Underground, trying to get back to the surface,” you continue, “Which is riddled with puzzles and occupied with monsters.”

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “These monsters tried to kill you at first, as they needed your soul to escape the Underground, but you managed to make friends with them and get them to stop fighting before anything too dangerous happened.”

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “And when you eventually reached Asgore’s castle, you realized that you needed a monster’s soul to cross the Barrier. However, you didn’t want to hurt anyone, so after beating Asgore, you decided that it was for the best that you stay down here.”

            “…Mmmhmm.” This time, your sister’s murmur of affirmation sounds a little bit guilty. You try to get her to meet your eye, but she refuses to look at you.

            “Oh, don’t be like that,” you say, poking her on the nose. “I don’t blame you, Frisk.”

            She looks up at you, a questioning look on her face. You smile, hoping that it doesn’t look as fake as it feels.

            “I understand. I mean… it sounds as if you’ve made a lot of really good friends down here. And if it meant you had to kill someone to get back to me… well, I wouldn’t want you to become a murderer for my sake.”

            Frisk cheers up at that, but it feels as if your heart is sinking. You know that everything you said is true, but the fact remains that Frisk... Frisk still chose these two-day-old friends over you, her own sister. The selfishness of your own feelings disgust you, but you can’t help how you feel. Frisk is the only family you have left. If you hadn’t fallen down here… chances are you’d have lived out the rest of your life on that mountain. Alone.

            “Anyway,” you say, picking the story back up. “Then this Flowey person took the power of the six souls that the monsters have already collected, and tried to kill you in order to take _your_ soul, so he could become a god of sorts.”

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “You somehow managed to defeat Flowey. You then retrieved the six souls and gave them back to Asgore, who you had previously saved from Flowey’s assassination attempt.”

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “You spared Flowey.”

            “Mmmhmm.” She didn’t even hesitate in affirming your statement. You sigh slightly, marveling at your sister’s resilience. But if your sister decided that the murderous flower deserved mercy, then that was good enough for you. Well… so long as it didn’t try anything else.

            “Then you came back to the ruins, where Toriel opened her home to you and, in effect, became your adoptive mother.”

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “Asgore changed his policy on humans, so now none of the monsters have any interest in possessing our souls.”

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “All of this in two days.”

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “Good God, sis,” you sigh. “That’s a bit much, even for you.”

            “It _is_ something of a wonder, is it not?” Toriel asks, beaming at Frisk. “This single child has done more good in two days than my ex-husband has in his entire reign as king.”

            You have to agree. You know that your sister can do anything she sets her mind to (you’ve seen how she works on those 10,000 piece puzzles), but this is ridiculous.

            “…Wait. Asgore is your ex?” you ask, bewildered. “Then that makes you…”

            “Ex-queen, yes.”

            _Huh._

You shake your head slightly. This is too much to take in at once. Your head had started to hurt the moment you’d first learned that monsters actually exist, but now, to find out that your sister is some kind of hero? You sigh, opting to try a bite of your pie instead on dwell on it any further. It’s really good. You’re normally not a fan of butterscotch, but the cinnamon more than makes up for it. While you take your little time out, Toriel picks up the conversation.

            “So you are my child’s sister, are you not?” she asks. You suddenly realize that you had completely forgotten to introduce yourself.

            “Oh! Yes. Yes I am,” you say, embarrassed. “Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m (Y/N).”

            “Well, it is very nice to meet you, (Y/N),” she says. “It seems my child has already introduced me, but I feel the need to do it myself as well. I am Toriel, caretaker of the ruins.”

            “Nice to meet you,” you echo, somewhat sheepishly. There’s something about Toriel’s smile that makes you feel so... so… secure. It’s been a long time since anyone has looked after you like this. A long time since… since your parents… no. You refuse to dwell on that.

            Desperate to think of something else, your mind latches on to the first thing it comes up with. Throughout the entire conversation, you haven’t heard Toriel once call your sister by her name. You look quizzically over at Frisk, who glances over at you when she feels your gaze on her.

            _“Why doesn’t goat mom call you by your name?”_ you ask. It seems like the kind of topic that could be potentially awkward to discuss out loud, so you revert to sign language.

            _“I couldn’t tell her,”_ she signs indignantly. _“No one here understands sign language.”_

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say aloud, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You mean to tell me… that you had no way of talking to anyone this entire time?”

            Frisk nods.

            “Actually, I have been curious about that,” Toriel says. “At first, I thought my child was simply shy, but it seems that is not the case. Why can she not speak?”

            “My sister here,” you say, shooting Frisk a look, “is mute. And, apparently, completely forgot that she can write.”

            Frisk stares at you incredulously, as if you are the smartest person known to mankind. Or… monsterkind? Man-and-monster kind? You push the irrelevant thought away and reach for your backpack. You’d totally seen this coming. She may be determined, but your sister isn’t exactly a stickler for details. You pull out a small whiteboard and a dry erase marker. You always keep them on hand, exactly for this kind of situation. Frisk facepalms.

            The moment she gets her hands on them, she starts writing furiously. When she finishes, she turns the board around to face Toriel. It reads “I’m Frisk.”

            “Well, it is nice to finally know your name, Frisk,” Toriel says. “And it is good that the two of us can finally talk, is it not?”

            Frisk nods enthusiastically, furiously writing a new message. You smile. Maybe this is a good thing, being trapped down here. Frisk seems genuinely happy, and... and it can get really lonely on Mt. Ebott, with only your sister and your trusty piano for company. You yawn enormously. Now that you’ve found Frisk, the physical and mental strain of the day is finally starting to catch up to you.  

            “My child, you must have had a long day,” Toriel says sympathetically. “And it is getting late. Perhaps you should get some rest.”

            You nod absentmindedly. You could almost fall asleep right here at the table.

            “Come, I will show you to your room.”

            You leave Frisk with a quick ‘see you later’ and follow Toriel out of the living room.

            “Well,” Toriel starts to ramble, “it is actually Frisk’s room, but you may share it if you would like. Or, there is another room that I could give you—it is currently under renovations, but I would be happy to finish it for you. You are practically an adult; I am sure you would appreciate a room to yourself.”

            You’re sure that there was an allusion to something dirty in that last statement, but you elect to give Toriel the benefit of the doubt. Suddenly, she stops, causing you to almost run into her.

            “Oh dear…” she murmurs. “I… It seems I forgot to ask you something. Something very important.”

            A sense of foreboding fills you as she slowly turns to face you, an unreadable expression on her face.

            “You… You _do_ want to stay here, do you not? You… You do not want to leave?”

            “Do I want to stay here?” you repeat.

            Everything has been moving so quickly that you hadn’t even considered the question.

            _It’s not as if I have much to go back to…_ you reason. _And even if I wanted to, Frisk’s already tried, and failed, to cross the Barrier. Why would it be any different for me?_

Remembering how happy your sister looked as she talked to ‘goat mom,’ you make your decision.

             “Yeah. Yeah… I think I do.”


	4. The Great Spaghetti Man

Your Perspective

            “So… where exactly are we going, again?” you ask your sister.

            After a hurried breakfast with Toriel, she’d insisted on bringing you down into your adoptive mother’s basement. The both of you are now standing in front of a towering doorway, which is, rather predictably, made of purple stone.

_“To see Dunkle and Spaghetti Man,”_ she signs.

            If anything, her explanation just makes you more confused. You’re not even sure you read her message correctly—she made the first nickname with a mashup of the signs ‘dunk’ (as in basketball) and ‘uncle,’ and you’re not entirely sure you even want to know what a spaghetti man is. 

            “‘Dunkle and Spaghetti Man?’” you echo uncertainly. Frisk beams at you. Apparently, you understood her nicknames correctly. “…Okay then. What are their real names?”

_“S-a-n-s and P-a-p-y-r-u-s,”_ she signs.

_Why does everyone down here have such weird names?_

            “And… uh… _what_ are they?” you ask. You feel it’d be best to prepare yourself now, so you don’t embarrass yourself by screaming when you meet this ‘spaghetti man.’ …Whatever that is.

_“You’ll see.”_

            With a smile that makes you even more uneasy, Frisk turns and starts furiously pushing at the door. It must be heavy, because it barely moves an inch.

            “Here, allow me,” says a familiarly soft voice. Toriel enters the room and, after Frisk bounces out of the way, easily pushes the door open. 

_“Thank you,”_ Frisk signs. You translate for her.

            “You are very welcome, my child,” Toriel says. “Be good, alright? And be sure to get home before nightfall.”

_As much as night can fall when you’re underground,_ you add to yourself.

            Frisk smiles up at Toriel and nods vigorously, before rushing out through the doors with enough energy for the both of you.

            “That child always seems to be running somewhere,” Toriel sighs.  “Maybe that is what keeps her from getting cold out there.”

_Cold…?_

            “Anyway, you two take care of yourselves,” she says. “And should you need to contact me, Frisk has my number on her phone.”

            “Her phone?” you ask. “How did she get a phone?”

            “Oh, I gave it to her. It is dangerous for a child to travel without one, is it not?”

_So much for Frisk’s birthday present._

            Before you can feel too guilty about your obvious shortcomings as a big sister, Frisk runs back into the room and pulls insistently at your arm.

            “Alright, alright, I’m coming,” you say, gently ruffling her hair. “See you later, Toriel.”

            “Goodbye my children. Have fun!” she calls.

 

***

 

            You’re having a hard time comprehending the world outside the ruins. Your footsteps crunch in what appears to be freshly fallen snow, and the densely packed forest to your left works to deafen all other sounds, giving this snowy world an air of tranquility. However, seeing as snow can’t fall without a sky, and trees need sunlight to grow, neither thing has any place underground. But, seeing as you’d been living on top of an entire civilization of monsters your whole live without even knowing such things existed… you try not to question the logic of this place too much.

            _“Sis, hurry up!”_ Frisk signs. She’s all over the place, obviously excited for you to meet her two friends.

            “I’m c-coming,” you stutter. It’s freezing out here. Unfortunately for you, it was early summer back home, and so you’re decked out in a T-shirt and shorts. Not exactly winter wear, to say the least. You hug yourself to try and stay warm, and you’re being extra careful where you place your feet—the last thing you want is to get snow in your shoes.

            _“You’re so slow,”_ Frisk signs. She doubles back and takes your hand, leading you along at a brisk pace. Despite the cold, you find yourself smiling. It’s so good to have your sister back.

            Soon, you start to notice that you’re not the only ones traveling in this snow-covered world. Though there’s not very many of them, you occasionally see monsters traversing the area. It’s sometimes hard for you to pick them out—a lot of them look as though they’re made out of the snow itself, and blend into the white of your surroundings.

            You’re initially unnerved by them, but you eventually start to relax. Watching them go about their daily business, you can almost see them as ordinary people. Children are playing together, grown monsters are stopping to talk to one another… a few even stop to wave at Frisk as you pass. If it weren’t for their appearances, they wouldn’t be out of place in the human world. As if reading your thoughts, Frisk turns to look back at you, a grin lighting up her face.

_“Pretty cool, huh?”_ she says, letting go of your hand to sign at you.

            “Yeah,” you breathe. “It really is.”

            Frisk smiles again and continues on, occasionally walking backwards as she shares bits and pieces of her adventures with you. You can’t help but laugh as she talks about Papyrus’s fascination with puzzles, or his brother’s bad puns. Listening to her talk about them, you start to realize just how much you owe to the two of them. Especially this ‘Sans’ character. The way she puts it, it seems as if he’d been keeping an especially close eye on her. 

_I’ll have to thank him when I meet him._

            “So, what exactly _are_ they?” you ask again. That’s one detail that Frisk seems to be intentionally keeping out of her explanations. A mischievous smile finds its way to her face, and she puts a finger to a lips.

_“I’m not telling.”_

            “Oh, come on sis,” you protest. “Can’t you at least give me a hint?”

_“Sure,”_ she signs, grin growing ever wider. _“I’d be happy to throw you a bone_. _”_

            She looks at you expectantly. You return her look with one of confusion.

_“I’d be happy to throw you a…_ bone _,”_ she repeats, putting stress on the sign for ‘bone.’

            “‘Bone?’” you repeat. “Was that supposed to be the hint?”

            Frisk sighs, giving in. She knows how bad you are with riddles.

_“Sis, Spaghetti Man and Dunkle are—”_

            “HUMAN!” a voice booms from behind you. “THERE YOU ARE!”

            Before you can so much as turn around, a pair of gloved hands have lifted you off of your feet and into the air.

            “I HAVE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU!” The speaker turns you around to face them. “I AM HOPING YOU CAN HELP ME WITH SOMETHING. YOU SEE…”

            The speaker trails off, but the fact that he’s stopped speaking barely registers with you. You’re too busy trying to contain the scream that you can feel building up in your lungs. A skeleton. You’re being held up by a… a living skeleton.

            “WOWIE, HUMAN,” it says, eye sockets looking you up and down. “YOU SURE DO GROW FAST.”

            You open your mouth to speak, but your lungs seem to have stopped working completely.

_This is too much._

           If you hadn’t been caught so off guard, you would probably find the monster almost comical. Its outfit wouldn’t look out of place at a costume party, too-small armor barely fitting over its ribcage, and something akin to a Speedo taking the place of pants. That, coupled with his too-large boots and bright red scarf (or is it a cape?) makes him quite the spectacle. However, it doesn’t do much to help you get over the fact that he’s almost seven feet tall, or that he lifted you—a full grown woman—as if you were a child.  

            You make no attempt to free yourself. You’re so dumbfounded that it’s all that you can manage to hold the skeleton’s empty gaze. Luckily, your little sister comes to your rescue.

            “Mmmm!” she calls. The skeleton moves you to one side to get a better look at your sister.

            “OH, HELLO HUMAN!” he exclaims. “AS I WAS JUST SAYING, I WAS HOPING YOU COULD…”

            The skeleton glances at your sister, then at you, and back again.

            “HUMAN… THERE ARE TWO OF YOU,” he observes. “DID YOU LEARN HOW TO CLONE YOURSELF FROM ASGORE?”

“MmmMmm,” Frisk says, shaking her head.

            “NO? THEN WHO IS THIS?” he asks, holding you a little bit higher.

            “U-uh,” you stammer. “I-I’m, I-I’m…”

            You take a deep breath and try again. You need to start getting used to this kind of thing—it will probably be happening often.

            “I-I’m Frisk’s sister,” you manage to say.

            “FRISK’S SISTER? AND WHO IS THIS FRISK PERSON YOU SPEAK OF?”

            Frisk waves.

            “That’s Frisk,” you clarify, pointing.

            “HUMAN, YOU HAD A NAME ALL THIS TIME? AND YOU DIDN’T TELL THE GREAT PAPYRUS?!” You can’t help but wince as the skeleton raises his voice. He’s loud enough when he’s speaking normally.

            “She couldn’t,” you explain, trying your best to ignore the ringing in your ears. “She can’t speak.”

            “OH…”

An awkward silence ensues that not even your sister knows how to abate. After being given adequate time to properly digest the situation, you can feel your cheeks start to flush at the fact that you’re still being held like some kind of rag doll.

            “Hey, uh… would you mind putting me down?” you ask. “I’m starting to lose feeling in my arms.”

            “OF COURSE I WOULDN’T MIND, FRISK’S SISTER.”

            The skeleton gently sets you down. He continues to look at the two of you, his eyes narrowing as he studies you.

            “YOU TWO REALLY DO LOOK A LOT ALIKE,” he says finally. “YOU ARE BOTH VERY… HUMAN LOOKING. AND YOU HAVE A LOT OF SKIN.”

            You can’t help but smile at the comment. The skeleton is definitely quirky, but it’s a lovable kind of quirky. In fact, even though you’ve only known him for a few minutes, you’re already starting to trust him.

            “IT SEEMS INTRODUCTIONS ARE IN ORDER. I, FRISK’S SISTER, AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD, MAKER OF PUZZLES, AND MASTER CHEF OF SPAGHETTI!” he exclaims, puffing out his chest.

            _Master chef of spaghetti?_

“Oh!” you exclaim. “ _This_ is Spaghetti Man?”

            _“Yep,”_ Frisk signs, beaming.

            “Y-YOU’VE HEARD OF ME?” Papyrus asks, his eye sockets somehow widening. “COULD IT BE? THAT I… I HAVE A FAN?!”

            “Well, uh…” There’s just something about that look on his face that makes it impossible to correct him. “Yeah, I guess so. Frisk’s told me a lot about you.”

            “WOWIE! MY FIRST FAN!” he exclaims, a sparkle entering his previously empty eye sockets. “WHAT IS YOUR NAME, OH FAN OF MINE?”

            “(Y/N),” you say. “Player of piano and, uh… online college student.”

            _“And awesome big sister!”_ Frisk exclaims.

            You can’t help but smile as you look down at your little sister. Even after everything she’s accomplished in the last two days, she’s still looking up to you. After willingly letting your sister walk into danger like that, you’re not entirely sure that you deserve such a title. But, seeing as _she’s_ the one that gave it to you…

            “And awesome big sister,” you concede.

            “WELL, IT IS VERY NICE TO MEET YOU, (Y/N).”

            _“Is he always this loud?”_ you ask Frisk in signs.

            _“Always,”_ Frisk confirms.

            “FRISK THE HUMAN!” Papyrus exclaims. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR HANDS?”

            _“Sign language,”_ she signs.

            “Sign language,” you say for her. “It’s how she communicates.”

            “SO… SHE SPEAKS IN HANDS?” Papyrus asks slowly. “WE USED TO KNOW SOMEONE THAT SPEAKS IN HANDS.”

            For some reason, the temperature of the surrounding air seems to drop a few degrees when he says that, and a shiver runs unbidden down your spine. Papyrus turns away, raising a thoughtful gloved hand to his skeletal chin.

            “OR, I… I THINK WE DID. DID WE? FUNNY, I CAN’T REMEMBER.”

            You’re not sure why, but you get the strangest feeling that someone’s watching you. You turn away from Papyrus to scan your surroundings. However, no matter how hard you look… there’s no one there. Then the moment passes. You feel the strange presence leave, the air regaining the precious few degrees that it had temporarily lost.

            “ANYWAY. AS I WAS SAYING, HUMA—FRISK,” Papyrus says. “I WAS HOPING THAT YOU CAN HELP ME WITH SOMETHING. IT’S ABOUT MY BROTHER.”

            Frisk cocks her head to one side.

            “YOU SEE, I CAN TELL THAT SANS HAS BEEN DOWN LATELY, BUT FOR THE LIFE OF ME, I CAN’T FIGURE OUT WHY,” he continues. “NOT EVEN THE REPEATED QUESTIONING OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD GET IT OUT OF HIM.”

            Frisk nods her understanding.

            “SO, INSTEAD, I THOUGHT THAT I WOULD TRY TO CHEER HIM UP. AND WHAT BETTER WAY TO CHEER SOMEONE UP… THAN WITH A VISIT FROM A FRIEND?”

            Frisk looks thoughtful for a moment, and then shakes her head.

            “WHAT? YOU HAVE A BETTER IDEA, FRISK?”

            “MmmHmm,” she says. She gestures to you with a flamboyant wave, as if she’s unveiling a masterpiece of a sculpture.

            “FRISK, THAT’S BRILLIANT!” he gasps, clasping his cheekbones. “WHAT BETTER WAY TO CHEER SOMEONE UP… THAN BY INTRODUCING THEM TO A _NEW_ FRIEND?! IF THAT WORKED TO MAKE THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAPPY, THEN IT MUST WORK FOR SANS TOO!”

            You gasp as Papyrus scoops you and Frisk up, effortlessly stowing the two of you under his arms.

            “W-wait a minute—”

            “SANS, HERE WE COME!”


	5. An Unending Cycle

Sans' Perspective

            _The kid sure is pushin’ it this time,_ I think. _What’s it been, three days? That’s gotta be some kind of record._  

            My crude attempt at a cheerful thought fails epically, and I can’t help but sigh, staring up at the ceiling through the inky blackness that is my room.

            Any minute now, the kid’ll reset, _again_.

            Any minute now, Paps’ll burst in, telling me that I’m late for sentry duty, _again_.

            I’ll go back to my post, to find that everything has started over from the beginning… again. Just like it did the last time the kid fell down here, and the time before that, and the time before that time… My entire world revolves around that kid, and the uncertainty of it all is torture.

            Will Chara get to the kid before I do?

            Will Chara make the kid go on a killing spree?

            Will the kid snap out of it before they… before they reach Papyrus?

            And in the end… will I have to kill the kid to keep her from moving forward?

            I can’t stop tears from springing to my eye sockets when I think about it. The genocide run. One of those hasn’t happened in a long time, but those images, those events… they’ve been burned into my memory so fully that I can’t so much as fall asleep without reliving them. Even now, laying in the darkness like this, I can see it all so clearly… Papyrus turning to dust, the kid’s broken body laying at my feet in the Judgment Hall…

            I shake the thought away, trying to stay positive.

            _The kid and I have had good times, too,_ I remind myself. _Puzzles. Grillby’s. That one time at the hotdog stand. Heh, that was a good one._

The smile that’s permanently fixed to my face slackens slightly at the edges, the closest thing to a frown I can accomplish. Yeah, there’d been good times… but they never last.

            The kid dies, and resets.

            The kid gets frustrated, and resets.

            The kid gets bored, and resets.

            The kid even resets accidentally, out of curiosity over what the reset button does.

            Every time the kid reaches the castle, I can’t help but hope that it’ll be for the last time. But it never happens. The kid always, _always_ resets. This isn’t the first time that the kid’s defeated Flowey, or the first time she “decided” to stay down here with the rest of us. No matter what I say, no matter what I do… I inevitably find myself in my bed, being woken up for sentry duty. In this unending cycle of resets, everything I do is ultimately pointless, just another action to be forgotten.

 _Heh… why even try?_ I ask myself. _It’s not as if we’ll ever get a “happy ending.”_

            No monster, in any of the timelines, has ever succeeded in gettin’ a hold of the kid’s soul. And I’ve seen the kid try, and fail, to break the barrier herself a hundred times. If not even her, with all of her determination, can break it… then it just can’t be broken. Simple as that.

            That doesn’t keep her from trying, though—over, and over, and over again. I can’t really blame her, though. She doesn’t remember anything. No one does.

_…No one but me._

            That’s what hurts the most. I’m completely alone. I instinctively wrap my arms around myself, hoping that the pressure will somehow keep me from going completely insane. I can’t tell anyone. The idea of time resetting itself is absolutely nuts—no one would believe me.

 _Paps would. Paps’ll believe_ anything _I tell him._

            He’d believe me, but I can’t do that to him. Knowing something like that… it’d kill him. Loneliness wells up in my soul, and the tears that I’d been trying so hard to fight back slowly start to roll down my cheekbones. I’m so pathetic. Useless and pathetic.

 _I should just give up,_ I think. _Would it really be so bad, letting Chara destroy this world?_

            After reliving the same two days for a period of nearly a year, a world of empty nothingness is starting to sound pretty good.

_And if she doesn’t, maybe… maybe I should just…_

            Downstairs, a door slams open.

 _Paps can’t see me like this,_ I think, furiously wiping at my eye sockets. It doesn’t do any good. I’m just getting my hands wet.

            “SANS!” Papyrus calls. “THE HUMAN AND I ARE HOME—”

 _They can’t see me like this,_ I repeat, my inner voice growing more frantic.

            “—AND WE BROUGHT A FRIEND!”

            I use my magic to lock the door moments before Papyrus goes to open it.

            “SANS? IS EVERYTHING… IS EVERYTHING OKAY IN THERE?”

_Oh, this is bad._

            Paps’s had the suspicion for a while now that something’s wrong. Locking my door wasn’t a very smart move.

            “E-everything’s fine, bro,” I call, a false cheerfulness to my voice. “I-I’m just, ‘ya know… uh, cleaning!”

            “CLEANING?” Paps asks suspiciously.

            “Y-yeah. Cleaning. You’re always telling me how messy… how messy it is in here, and…” I trail off. It’s never been easy to lie to him.

            “…BROTHER?”

            Papyrus’s voice drops slightly in volume, so that he’s almost speaking at a normal level. In other words, he’s serious.

            “Yeah, Paps?” I ask quietly.

            “ARE YOU REALLY OKAY? YOU’VE BEEN ACTING KIND OF… OFF… THE LAST FEW DAYS, AND, WELL…” he says. “IT HAS ME WORRIED.”

            He’s seen right through me.

            “I’m fine, Paps,” I sigh, my ‘happy’ façade falling away. “I just… I just need some time to myself, okay? That’s all.”

            “…”

            “Paps?”

            “MAYBE IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU CAME OUT HERE FOR A WHILE,” he continues. “I BROUGHT SOMEONE HERE TO SEE YOU. MAYBE MEETING THEM WOULD… WOULD CHEER YOU UP? JUST A LITTLE BIT?

            I don’t answer, instead curling up and facing away from my door. Paps’ innocent kindness is only making me feel worse. After a long stretch of silence, he eventually gives up.

            “WELL… IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, WE’LL BE OUTSIDE, I GUESS,” he says, a note of hurt to his voice. “THE HUMANS AND I ARE GOING TO MAKE SNOW MONSTERS.”

_Wait, did he just say…_

            No. I must’ve misheard him—there’s only one human in the Underground.

            A quiet voice says something to Papyrus, but the door muffles it too much for me to make out what was said.

            “WELL… OKAY THEN, (Y/N). I SUPPOSE THERE’S NO HARM IN TRYING,” Paps sighs. “WE’LL BE WAITING FOR YOU OUTSIDE.”

            Footsteps slowly retreat down the stairs, and the front door clicks softly as Papyrus closes it behind him. A part of me wishes that he stayed. I sigh, trying to think of something, anything to take my mind off of the pain that’s plaguing my soul. Of course, I go to the old standby.

 _What does a skeleton order at a restaurant?_ I ask myself numbly. _Heh. Spare—_

            “Umm…” a voice starts. “I… uh…”

            The voice startles me enough that my magic forces itself on, a dim blue light illuminating the space around me. I wish it didn’t; it’s not exactly a pleasant sight, what with all the clutter and dirty clothes.

            I slowly turn towards the door, thinking that I might just be hearing things. I wouldn’t exactly be surprised—who knows how many resets a person can live through before they start to go crazy? But no, there’s definitely someone there.

            “…Maybe this was a bad idea,” they mutter to themselves. There’s a few seconds of silence, but then they sigh, and try again.

            “You’re Sans, right?” the voice asks. “Papyrus’s brother?”

            I don’t say anything. Unlike with Papyrus, though, that’s not entirely intentional—there’s just something about the speaker’s voice that’s, well… mesmerizing. It’s definitely a girl’s voice, and it’s so beautiful and melodic that you can’t help but stop and listen. She’s barely even said anything, and yet I’m completely captivated.

            The girl sighs again, taking my silence as some kind of rejection. However, she apparently decides to continue, whether I’m listening or not.

            “Well, um… I just wanted to thank you,” she says. “From what I understand, you really helped my sister out after she fell down here.”

 _...What?_ I ask myself. I’m not sure I completely understand what’s going on here.

            “So, uh… thanks for that. For being there when I couldn’t be.”

            The girl seems to wait for a reply. I’m too shocked to give her one.

            “Well… that’s it, I guess,” she says quietly. She goes silent again, but she doesn’t leave.

            “Do you need someone to talk to?” she asks suddenly. “I… well, I know we barely know each other, but…”

            I stare at the door, dumbfounded. The girl, apparently realizing how awkward this is, sighs and backtracks a little bit.

            “My sister… my sister always says that I have this uncanny ability to tell how other people are feeling,” she says apologetically, as if trying to explain herself. “Actually, she says it’s kind of creepy how well I understand other people… ahem.”

            She pauses for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts.

            “You’re obviously going through some tough times right now,” she says slowly, “and you probably feel as if you can’t tell anyone about it. Especially not your brother, right? Because you’re trying to protect him?”

            I sit up. The girl’s definitely got my attention.

            “If that’s the case, then I… I know how you feel. There are some things that I could never tell Frisk, no matter… no matter how much it hurts me to keep quiet…” she trails off. “But that’s beside the point.”

            “I just wanted to let you know that holing yourself up in your room isn’t going to make your problems—whatever they may be—go away. If anything, it’s making your brother really worry about you,” she says. “My sister, too. She really looks up to you, you know.”

            I slowly get up, my bones groaning in protest.

            “You can trust me on that last point. On our way over here, she practically talked about you nonstop,” the girl says, managing a laugh. A laugh shouldn’t be anything special—Paps does it all the time—but for some unknown reason, this mysterious girl’s laugh drives me to take a step towards my door.

            “But in any case, I think it would make them both feel a little better if hung out with them for a while,” she continues. “And if you ever _do_ need someone to talk to… well, you can come to me, the random stranger who hasn’t even introduced herself yet.”

_Heh. Well, at least she has a sense of humor._

            “I’m (Y/N),” she says. “I’m Frisk’s sister. Though judging from Papyrus, it probably makes more sense to you if I introduce myself as ‘the human’s sister,’” she says, laughing again. “I still can’t believe that Frisk never told anyone her name.”

            I freeze, my hand suspended just inches from the door handle. That can’t be possible. Never, in any of the hundreds of timelines I’ve been forced to live through, has the kid’s sister _ever_ fallen down.

            “That’s all I wanted to say. If you’re feeling up to it, you should come outside. Then we can meet face to face, instead of on opposite sides of a door.”

            I barely register her last words. My mind is running a mile a minute, trying to comprehend what the heck is going on.

 _The kid’s sister fell down,_ I think. _And the kid hasn’t reset since._

            I remain completely still, trying to digest that piece of information.

 _If_ she _was reason the kid was so desperate to get back to the surface, and she’s here now, possibly to stay, then that would mean… that would mean…_

            Despite my attempts to hold it back, I can feel my hopes soar.

            “Wait!” I exclaim, bursting through the door. “Are you really…?”

            There’s no one there. She’s already left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! I just wanted to say that comments are highly encouraged. I love to read my comments--even the ones that are more critical. Also, I hope you like it so far. :-)


	6. The Human Snowman

Your Perspective

            The moment you close the door to Papyrus’s house behind you, you can’t help but collapse against it, releasing a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding.

            _That could have gone better,_ you think with a slight sigh. _‘Do you need someone to talk to?’ Really?! I hardly even know the guy, and_ that’s _what I come up with?!_

You put a hand to your face, trying to fend off the blush that you can feel spreading across it. You got carried away, just like always. You don’t know what it is about you, but you can’t stand seeing other people in such desolate places. Maybe it’s because it reminds you too much of those times… those times when…

            _Stop thinking about it,_ you tell yourself firmly. _That… that happened a long time ago. There’s no use dwelling on it. We don’t need them—we’re getting on fine without them._

You shake your head to clear it and stand up, turning for a moment to glance at the upper windows of the skeleton brothers’ Christmassy house. Even if it was a little awkward and over-the-top, you hope your speech did some good.

            You could practically _feel_ the depression oozing from that room. And if your experiences are anything to go by, if this Sans person is depressed enough to lock himself in his room… well, he’s probably considering radical actions to escape it, just like you did. You can still remember that day, when you’d almost decided that life wasn’t worth it anymore. You can still remember the feeling of cold steel in your palm, your hand shaking as you were about to pull the trigger…

            “HUMAN!” Papyrus calls, waving to you. “YOU HAVE PERFECT TIMING! FRISK SAYS SHE NEEDS A MODEL FOR HER SNOW SCULPTURE! …OR, AT LEAST I THINK SHE DID! I CAN’T UNDERSTAND HER VERY WELL.”

            Frisk and Papyrus are over in a clearing adjacent to the skeleton bros’ house, and are busily shaping piles of snow. Well, Papyrus is, at least. Your sister seems to be a bit… uninspired, you guess.

            “A model?” you ask.

            “MmmHmm,” Frisk confirms, running over and taking your hand. She leads you over towards Papyrus and positions you on a very well-shaped pedestal of snow. She looks over you critically and the grabs your arm, carefully placing it on your hip.

            “Frisk?” you ask.

            “Mmm!” she exclaims. _“Don’t move!”_

            She positions your other hand like the first, and then asks you to puff your chest out. You reluctantly agree, feeling rather silly. After a few minor adjustments, Frisk looks you over again and nods, apparently happy with your super-man like pose.

_“Stay still!”_ she commands.

            “SO, (Y/N)… HOW DID IT GO?” Papyrus asks while Frisk starts to coat your feet in snow.

            “I’m not sure,” you sigh, unable to look the skeleton in the eye. “He didn’t say anything.”

            “OH…” Papyrus says quietly. You try to figure out what to say to the skeleton to cheer him up, but nothing comes to mind.

            “WELL, WE DON’T NEED HIM!” he exclaims indignantly, non-existent eyebrows somehow lowering over his eye sockets. “FRISK NOW HAS A PERFECTLY GOOD MODEL TO WORK WITH, AND SO DO I!”

            “Oh yeah?” you ask, trying to ignore just how cold the snow Frisk’s placed against your calves feels.

            “YES,” he says proudly. “ME!”

            He unveils a half-finished snow sculpture of himself that had been previously hidden underneath his scarf.

            “W-wow P-Papyrus,” you say, teeth starting to chatter. “That’s r-really good.”

            And it really is. It’s astounding how much attention to detail he’s put into it—it’s completely anatomically correct, as if he’d been referring to a health textbook when he made it. He even remembered the empty spaces between his Tibia and Fibula.

            “NYEH HEH HEH!” he exclaims. “I KNOW! LET ME TELL YOU HOW THE GREAT PAPYRUS MANAGED SUCH A FEAT. YOU SEE, FIRST I HAD TO GATHER SNOW, AND ONLY THE BEST QUALITY SNOW WOULD DO…”

            You tune out of Papyrus’s raving to glance over at the house again.

_Maybe there was something else I should have said…_ you think. _Or maybe I should’ve had Frisk says something, and translated for her. Frisk would probably hold more sway over him, since the two of them are friends and all. Or maybe I should’ve said more about Papyrus. Or maybe…_

            “Mmm!” Frisk exclaims. Apparently, you’d been so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed her sign at you.

            “S-sorry,” you tell her. “C-could you repeat that?”

_“Pay attention this time!”_ Frisk exclaims. _“Your backpack’s getting in the way. Take it off.”_

            You suddenly realize that you can’t feel your legs anymore. In the time you’d spaced out, Frisk’s managed to coat you all the way up to your waist in snow.

            “G-geez, Fr-Frisk,” you mutter, sliding off your backpack. “Are you tr-trying to give me fr-frost bite?”

            Frisk giggles, but doesn’t answer.

            “Fr-Frisk,” you protest. “I’m Fr-freezing!”

_“Just hold on until I’m done, okay?_ ” she asks. _“I wanna post a picture of this on the UnderNet.”_

            “…Th-that sounds like a F-Facebook,” you say suspiciously. “A-and if it is, I don’t want my p-picture on it.”

_“Come on, Sis,”_ she signs. _“Pleeeease?”_

            You’re not entirely sure you want to become immortalized as the human snowman, but your sister is the one person you can’t refuse… even if you wanted to. She’s giving you the doe eyes. You swear that’s why she squints in the first place—to use her cuteness as a weapon when she needs to.

            “Y-you sure are st-stubborn,” you mutter, giving in.

_“No, I’m_ determined, _”_ she signs indignantly. _“That’s what everyone tells me.”_

“St-stubborn, d-determined—whatever floats your b-boat,” you sigh, flinching when she presses snow against the small of your back. “J-just know that it’ll be y-your fault if I turn into a p-popsicle!”

            “HUMANS CAN TURN INTO POPSICLES?” Papyrus asks, cocking his head to one side.

            “N-no, it’s a f-figure of sp-speech,” you explain, giggling.

            “OH. I SEE,” he says slowly. “I SUPPOSE YOU REALLY DO LEARN SOMETHING NEW EVERY DAY.”

            “Mmm!” Frisk says, waving to get Papyrus’s attention.

            “WHAT IS IT, FRISK?” Papyrus asks.

            _“Sis, can you tell Papyrus that—”_

“S-sorry, Frisk. Th-the translator’s office has been sn-snowed out, and is o-officially closed for the day,” you say, pointedly crossing your arms. Petty, you know. But you’re not exactly thrilled with your sister at the moment.

            _“…Meanie,”_ Frisk signs, sticking her tongue out at you. She then starts something akin to a game of charades with Papyrus.

            “YOU’RE WALKING… NO, CLIMBING… NO... _SASHAYING_ UP A MOUNTAIN. WHAT? I’M WRONG? BUT YOU ARE _OBVIOUSLY…_ ”

            A distant door swings closed, diverting your attention from the conversation. A short, vaguely humanoid figure has just exited Papyrus’s house, and is slowly making its way over to the three of you. It’s too far away for you to make out most of the details, but the figure’s bright pink shoes stand out against the snow.

            Once it gets closer, you find that it’s another skeleton. Seeing as he’s the only other skeleton you’ve seen down here (well, so far, at least), and he’s just exited Papyrus’s house, you can only assume that this is Sans, Papyrus’s brother.

            Listening to Papyrus talk about him, you’d immediately assumed that Sans was the older brother. Now that you can actually see him, though, you’re not so sure. He’s much shorter than Papyrus—maybe even an inch or so shorter than you—and heavy-set in comparison with his tall and lanky brother.

            His hands are shoved in the pockets of a very warm looking baby-blue jacket (which you’re actually cold enough to be jealous of), and he’s wearing a plain white T-shirt underneath it. That seems reasonable enough. When you notice that he’s wearing predominantly black, white-striped _shorts_ , and that his shoes are actually _slippers_ , however, you begin starting to question his life decisions. It’s _freezing_ out here.

            He hesitates for a moment, stealing a glance back the way he came. Papyrus and Frisk still haven’t noticed him yet, so this is his last chance to go back. He seems to seriously consider it, even going so far as to take a half-step back towards the house.

_I can’t let that happen._ You take a breath to call out to him, but you release it again as he makes up his mind and slowly saunters over towards the three of you.

            He has small white pinpricks in his eye sockets, in the place of pupils. This is a detail that you probably would have missed, had he not been staring at you. The moment he was within speaking distance, he locked eyes with you, and he’s since gone completely still. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. He’s smiling… but it seems, well… permanent.

            _I guess that makes sense,_ you reason. _He_ is _a skeleton, after all._

You can’t believe you just thought that with a straight face. All this craziness is becoming normal a lot more quickly than you would have thought possible.

            After a few moments of tense silence, his smile grows just a little bit, and he turns to look at Frisk, who’s still in the midst of a “conversation” with Papyrus.

            “Hey kid,” he says, taking one hand out of his pocket to point at you decisively with a thumb. “That’s pretty good—looks almost lifelike.”

            _Wow. I… I actually have no idea whether or not he’s joking._

Instead of replying, Frisk squeals and runs over to the skeleton, practically tackling him with a hug. Papyrus isn’t far behind.

            “GROUP HUG!” he exclaims, effortlessly lifting the both of them off their feet as he squeezes the living daylights out of them. You can’t help but laugh at the sight of it. Sans glances over at you, and you swear you see a faint tinge of blue enter his cheekbones.

            “Hey, Pap? The kid can’t breathe,” he mutters, purposely avoiding your gaze.

            “OH!” Papyrus exclaims, putting both of them down. “MY APOLOGIES, FRISK. I FORGOT HOW FRAGILE HUMANS CAN BE.”

            Your sister looks a little confused, but doesn’t question it.

            “ANYWAY, NOW THAT YOU’VE FINALLY JOINED US, I CAN FINALLY INTRODUCE YOU TO MY NEW FRIEND, (Y/N)! SHE’S THE HUMAN’S SISTER,” Papyrus pronounces, pointing to you.

            “Is she now,” Sans says. “I thought she was an ice sculpture.”

            “NO, SHE IS MOST DEFINITELY HUMAN,” Papyrus says.

            “Heh. Well, either way…” Sans’ smile suddenly seems incredibly genuine. “That’s pretty… _cool…_ wouldn’t you say?”

_Oooh boy,_ you think. _Frisk wasn’t kidding about the puns._

            “YES, IT MOST CERTAINLY IS. WELL, NOT AS COOL AS THE GREAT PAPYRUS, BUT…” Papyrus trails off, before giving Sans a look. “SANS…!”

            “Oh, come on Paps, that was good,” he says. “You could even say—”

            “SANS, DON’T YOU DARE!”

            “—that it was pretty… _humerous.”_

            “OH MY GOD, SANS,” he moans. “WHY?!”

            Papyrus may not appreciate it, but Frisk is in stitches—her wildly shaking shoulders show as much. And, if you’re being honest, you’re trying your best to hold back a snort.

            “Heh. See? The kid thought it was funny,” Sans says.

As Frisk’s silent laughter starts to die down, so does Sans’ ‘humerous’ attitude. His permanently fixed smile drops just a little bit at the edges, and he suddenly becomes very interested in his slippers.

            “Hey, uh… kid?” he asks, stealing a quick glance in your direction. “I… I need to borrow your sister for a minute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>                 For those of you who may think that things are moving a little slowly, I apologize for that. I'm a novelist at heart, and it's just my basic instinct to give my story a good (*snort*) backbone. ...Ahem.  
>                 Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that it will pick up the pace eventually. I've got a whole plotline written out for this thing, and it's got a lot of potential... if I set up a good base enough for it. 


	7. A Tale of Resets

Sans' Perspective

            I stare straight ahead as the kid’s sister and I walk out towards the ruins. I’d suggested it so we could get away from Paps and the kid… but I’m beginning to regret it now. Beyond the crunching of the snow beneath our feet, it’s unnervingly silent. The girl hasn’t said anything since we left, and it’s starting to get to me.

            _Welp, this is awkward._

I sneak a look at her, and can’t help but cringe when I find that she looks absolutely miserable. The poor girl must be freezing—she’s trembling ever so slightly, and her arms are wrapped around herself to try and conserve whatever little body heat she has left.

            Feeling the weight of my stare, she starts to turn to look at me. I quickly face forwards again, unwilling to meet her eye. ...I’m not sure why, though. _I’m_ the one that asked her to walk with me. Why is it so hard to start up a conversation?

             In the absence of anything to say, I slowly slip off my jacket. There’s a good chance we’ll be out here for a while, and I’m not just going to let her freeze to death. I try to meet her eye when I hold my jacket out to her, but I just can’t seem to manage it.

            “Oh! U-uh… you don’t h-have to…” she says, teeth chattering. I try to come up with a pun or something to lighten the mood, but for the first time in a long time, nothing comes to mind.

            “Just take it,” I mutter, looking away. “I’m a skeleton. I don’t get cold.”

            After a slight hesitation, she takes it.

            “Th-thanks,” she murmurs.

            “Heh. No problem,” I say, making a momentous effort to look her in the eye. “What would the kid say if we went back and you were… frozen…”

            My mind goes completely blank, and I find myself staring at her. Seeing her wearing my jacket like that, it’s… it’s so… After a few moments, some unfamiliar feeling drives me to look away. Embarrassment, maybe?

            _Definitely embarrassment,_ I assure myself.

            “Sans?” she asks. A shiver runs down my spine when she says my name, and I can feel my cheekbones warm slightly.

“Sans… are you blushing?”

            “W-what?” I stammer, caught completely off-guard by the question.

            “Your cheekbones are turning blue.”

            “No they’re not!”

            “Huh,” she says suspiciously.

            “It’s just cold out. That’s all,” I say indignantly.

            “Hmm…” she says thoughtfully, a mischievous smile making its way onto her face. “I thought you said skeletons don’t get cold?”

            _I walked into that one. Wait… this is perfect._

“They don’t,” I say, jumping on the opportunity. “They get chilled to the _bone._ ”

            The girl stares at me for a moment. She tries to hold it back, but she eventually starts laughing. And, just like that, the tension that’d been in the air for the last few minutes completely fades away.

            _Heh, still got it._

“Wow,” she gasps, “that was _really_ bad.”

            “I still gotta laugh out of it, though,” I say, winking at her. We fall back into silence, but this time, it’s more of a friendly silence.

             “So…” I say eventually. “You’re the kid’s sister.”

            “Yep,” she says. “You seemed surprised when you found out.”

            “Well,” I say, “I was. It’s the first time you’ve fallen down here, so I wasn’t expecting it.”

            “…Of course it was the first time,” she says, shooting me a confused look. “It’s not possible to fall more than once, is it?”

            _Oh, crap._

            I hadn’t meant to bring that up. My decision to leave the house was made in the heat of the moment, and now that I’m out here, I’m not sure I want to tell anyone about the timelines. Especially not her. If I want her to fully understand, I’d have to tell her everything—and there’s no easy way to tell someone that their sister can reset time, or that she sometimes gets possessed by a psychopath and unwillingly murders the entire monster race.

  _And… I’d have to tell her that I’ve killed her sister._

That’s the kicker. I’ve watched Paps get killed over and over again. I know how much it hurts to lose a sibling. And if (Y/N) is really here to stay… do I really want her to see a murderer every time she looks at me?

            “Sans?” she asks. “Are you okay?”

            I hadn’t even noticed that I’d stopped walking. (Y/N) is several feet in front of me, and looking back at me with visible concern. I’m about to say that I’m fine, but the words seem unwilling to form themselves.

            _I… I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this._

I sigh and sit on a nearby boulder, placing my skull in my hands. Everything I’ve seen, everything I… I’ve _done…_ it’s making me come apart at the seams.

 _I can’t go on pretending that everything’s okay. I just… I just_ can’t _._

Snow crunches as (Y/N) walks over, but I don’t look up as she finds herself a place on an adjacent rock.

            “You know,” she says, “I’ve got a pair of perfectly good ears, if you need to borrow them.”  

            _Was that… a skeleton pun?_ I ask myself, looking up at her suspiciously. 

“Sorry,” she says, trying to fight back a smile at my expression. “I couldn’t help it.”   

            “But seriously,” she says gently, her (e/c) eyes becoming more serious as she meets my gaze. “No matter what it is that’s bothering you, you can talk to me about it.”

            As I look into her eyes, I can feel my inner turmoil slowly starting to fade away. This person, with her melodic voice, soft smile, and her appreciate of bad puns, exudes trustworthiness. If I’m going to tell anyone… then, then I guess… it might as well be her.

_Welp, this is it. I’m about to make the most impulsive decision of my life._

            “I don’t think you’ll like what I have to tell you, (Y/N),” I sigh, breaking eye contact. “You may not even believe me.”

            “Honestly, after surviving a fall down the side of a mountain, finding out that monsters and magic exist, and meeting a pair of living skeletons, there’s not much I _wouldn’t_ believe,” she says bluntly. “And I’d rather have you say something I don’t like than have you do something you’d regret.”

            “And you won’t tell anyone? Especially not Papyrus and Frisk?” I ask. She seems more hesitant about that request.

            “I… I won’t tell anyone.”

            “Good,” I say. I look her straight in the eye, trying to communicate just how serious I am on this point. “’Cause if you do… you’re going to have a bad time.”

            I must’ve made “the face,” because (Y/N) is staring at me with a mixture of uncertainty and fear, and she’s actually leaning backwards a little bit to put some extra distance between us.

            “Wow, Sans… you can be really scary when you want to,” she mutters, looking away.

            _Oops._ I hadn’t meant to do that. Well… okay, maybe I wanted to look a little menacing, but not enough to actually s _care_ her.

            “Sorry,” I say, my hand automatically finding its way to the back of my skull. “I didn’t mean to scare you, it’s just hard to emote without any lips… or eyebrows.”

            “I-It’s fine,” she says, taking a shaky breath. “I get it.”

            I sigh and turn to look out across the snow, trying to figure out how best to start.

 

***

 

Your Perspective

            Sans’ white pinpricks are unfocused as he stares out over the snow, as if he’s looking at something only he can see. After such an ominous introduction to his story, followed by that empty eye-socketed stare, you can’t help but feel uneasy about what it is he’s going to tell you. You draw his jacket closer around you, trying to fend off the sudden chill that’s entered the air.

            “…What do you know about timelines?” Sans asks.

            “Timelines?” you echo uncertainly. “Well… not much—just what I’ve seen on documentaries and stuff. It’s a quantum mechanics theory, right?”

            Sans nods and gives you a kind of ‘go on’ gesture. You have no idea where this is going, but you continue anyway.

            “It basically states that time is a web of alternate universes. For every decision we make, there is an entirely separate set of consequences, which will ultimately lead to very different scenarios later on,” you explain. “So therefore, every decision we make, and every possible alternate to that same decision, has its own set of events associated with it—its own timeline. And, theoretically, there’s unlimited number of alternate timelines.”

            “Right,” Sans says, looking at you approvingly. “There’s just one thing that you didn’t get quite right—it’s not just a theory.”

            “…What are you trying to say, Sans?”

            “The story that I’ve got to tell is long, complicated, and completely crazy,” he says, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “And it’d probably go a lot faster if you don’t ask questions until the end. Are you okay with that?”

            “…I guess,” you say uncertainly. Sans takes a deep, shaky breath, and stares out at the distant horizon.

            “Ok then,” he sighs. “It all started when Frisk first fell down here. And yes, I do mean _first,_ but I’ll get to that in a sec.”

            “The first run was great. The kid was a little charmer—made friends with every monster she met, even if they were trying to kill her. Paps and her got off great. She flew threw his puzzles with flying colors, and she even managed to convince him not to bring her to Undyne. It was great to see my brother happy like that again. But then she got to waterfall, and, well… she died.”

            “She _what?!”_ you screech, jumping up. “What? When?! How—”

            “Hold on,” Sans sighs, placing a hand on your shoulder. “She was dead then, but she’s not now—I’ll explain in a second.”

            Frisk isn’t dead. You just saw her half an hour ago.

            “Ok…” you mutter to yourself. “I’m going to be calm, and I’m going to listen to what the seemingly crazy skeleton has to say. I’m not going to jump to any conclusions, and I’m going to try to be understanding.”

            You take a deep breath to try and quiet your racing heart, and sit back down on your rock.

            “You done talking to yourself, Buttercup?” Sans asks mischievously. A thrill runs through you at the nickname, but you elect to ignore it. You nod instead, telling him to go on.

            “Okay. Back to my story—the kid died. We’d all lost a great friend. It was sad, tragic, etcetera… but it only lasted about twenty seconds. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself back at home, in my bed, with no memory of how I got there. The last thing I remembered was keepin’ an eye on the kid in waterfall,” Sans continues. “Not knowing what was going on, I asked Pap if he was going to be okay without the kid there. I figured the kid’s death would be hard on him—he was the closest to her, and it was the first time he’d ever lost someone.”

            Sans takes a deep breath.

            “‘Kid?’ he asked me. ‘What kid do you mean, brother?’ I tried to explain it to him, but he thought I was playing some kind of prank on him. According to him, he’d never seen a human before in his life. And then… he told me we were late for sentry duty, and that we needed to get back to our posts. That didn’t make sense—we’d abandoned our posts after Paps made friends with the kid. But, not knowing what else to do, I had to go along with it.”

            “As the day progressed, I eventually wrote the whole thing off. The kid had never died. The kid had never even fallen in the first place—it was all just some kind of bizarre dream. But then, a few hours after taking my post, there she was. The kid was walking out of the ruins, just like she had the first time. I was relieved to see that she wasn’t dead, and went to greet her. When I did, though… she didn’t recognize me.”

            “She went through the Underground as if it were the first time. Nobody recognized her. Nobody remembered anything. For some reason, I was the only one that knew about the previous timeline. It was difficult, but I embraced it. I liked the kid, and it would’ve been hard on everyone if she really _had_ died. It didn’t matter that I was the only one that remembered, so long as everyone was happy.”

            “But then, the kid died again. And the world reset itself, again. And then it happened again… and again… and again… you get the picture. The first few times it happened, it was just because the kid died. But then, one time, she made it. She made it all the way through, all the way to Asgore. She defeated Flowey, and reclaimed the six souls. I thought that was it. She’d finally reached the end of her little ‘quest,’ so things would go back to some kind of normalcy. But then… the world reset.”

            “I didn’t understand why. She hadn’t died. I knew that for sure—I’d been following her, to try and prevent that from happening. Not knowing what else to think, I dismissed it as an accident. But then it started to happen more often, and for no real reason. The kid would do something she hadn’t meant to, and the world would suddenly reset. She would get lost, and the world would reset. Though it always happened for different reasons, there was one thing that remained constant—it always had something to do with the kid. It was then that I started to realize that it wasn’t just her deaths that caused it. She could force it to happen, through sheer force of will.”

            “I started to get tired of it. Sure, it was interesting to see how the kid’s decisions affected the course of the timeline… but there’s only so many times a guy can live through the same two days over and over again. I eventually decided that if the world reset again, I was going to tell Frisk what was going on—explain that she had the power to reset, and tell her that she should try her best to keep from using it. When the next reset happened, I went back to my station, this time determined to change the timeline for the better…”

            Sans trails off, and his smile tightens at the corners. You start to become a little anxious as his white-pinprick pupils slowly fade away, leaving behind ominously empty eye sockets. He puts a hand to his forehead, and his shoulders start to shake as he… chuckles. It’s a grating, bitter sound… and it chills right down to your very soul.

            “Sans?” you ask, worried. “Sans, are you okay?”

            “Can you believe that?” he asks. “I _actually_ thought I could make a difference.”

            “Didn’t you?” you ask softly, spurring him to finish his explanation.

            “I never had the chance to find out,” he mutters, pupils slowly returning. “If… if I had only told her sooner, then maybe…”

            Gently glowing, bright blue tears materialize at the corners of the skeleton’s eye sockets. He doesn’t move to wipe them away, and he doesn’t seem embarrassed about the fact that he’s crying in front of you. In fact, it’s almost as if he’s completely forgotten that you’re there at all.

            “The… the next time Frisk left the ruins, there was something… something _off_ about her,” Sans says shakily. “She was colder, more removed. She didn’t laugh at my puns. She didn’t let me try and help her, like she had every time before. She wouldn’t even _smile_ anymore. It was as if… as if she were broken inside.”

            “I kept an extra close eye on her that run—I wanted to find out why she was acting so differently. It didn’t take long for me to find out. Just minutes after she met me and Papyrus, she… she killed someone. I... I didn’t know how to react. I mean, Frisk had never so much as _hurt_ a monster before. Seeing her murder a monster in cold blood, seeing that demented smile on her face… something was very, _very_ wrong.”

            “After seeing the kid kill every monster that crossed her path, and then watching as she actually _sought out_ monsters to murder… I didn’t know what to believe anymore. I went ahead to Snowdin, and managed to convince everyone to evacuate. I only left the kid alone for a few minutes—a half hour, at the most. But… but when I found her again, she… she was…”

            Sans falls silent, his luminous blue tears slowly rolling down his cheekbones. His sadness is rubbing off on you. Your own eyes start to tear up, and you have to blink rapidly to keep them from falling. You’re not sure you want to know happen next, but you don’t try to stop him as he continues.

            “…she was standing over Papyrus’s disintegrating body.”

            You feel as if you’d just been shot. Your sister… your sister killed Papyrus?

            _No. No, that can’t… she couldn’t…_

Sans, as if coming out of a trance, sniffs and quickly wipes away his tears with the neck of his T-shirt. When he continues, he seems to be a little more emotionally stable.

“The kid went on as if nothing happened. She killed everyone she came across, no matter what their intentions were. I had to stop her. I didn’t know for sure what would happen if she reached Asgore, but I knew that it wouldn’t be good. So, horrified and vengeful, I waited for her in the last corridor before the castle. I was ready to do whatever I had to. I would have done anything, so long as it stopped her.”

            He glances over at you, trying to look you in the eye. For some reason, he can’t do it. Instead, he looks away, covering his eye sockets with a hand.

            “Reasoning didn’t work. Neither did negotiation. There was only one option left open to me—I had to fight her. And, to be honest with you… I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to. She’d killed my brother. Some part of me, no matter how small, wanted to see her blood splattered across the floor.”

            “She gave me a hard time. It was incredible how nimble she was. Most of my attacks couldn’t so much as touch her. We went at it for what seemed like hours, and she was slowly starting to wear me down. I couldn’t keep fighting forever. She knew it, too. That look on her face… I’d never thought the kid could look so bloodthirsty. Eventually, I got lucky. I hit her straight in the soul, and it killed her instantly. But then, something happened I never could have predicted.”

            “A black mist separated itself from the broken pieces of Frisk’s soul. When it shaped up, it looked vaguely like a human girl, but it was shifting and ethereal, like some sort of ghost. ‘Good try, comedian,’ she told me. ‘But I think you hit the wrong person.’ She shot me the same demented smile that ‘Frisk’ had worn just moments before, and picked up Frisk’s discarded knife. ‘Now. Let’s finish what we started, shall we?’”

            “That’s when it finally hit me. Frisk had never killed anyone. It had been this girl all along… this ‘Chara.’ It was _Chara_ that had killed my brother. It was _Chara_ that had baited me into killing Frisk. And it was _Chara_ … who was about to have a _fucking. bad. time_.”

            “I’ll spare you the details, but I eventually managed to shatter whatever was left of the little demon’s soul. And then, predictably, the world reset. Things went back to being relatively ‘normal.’ Frisk was back. Chara seemed to have disappeared. I went back into my normal routine, which by that point completely revolved around Frisk.”

            “But then, Chara resurfaced. She remembered everything. She, like me, knew about the resets. She also knew that gaining the power of the six souls would make her all-powerful, and was desperate to get her hands on them. I never understood why, but she wanted to use them to destroy this world, and everyone in it. In the end, I was inevitably forced to kill Frisk, and then Chara, again.”

            “And so it goes. Reset after reset, I was forced to face the uncertainty of whether I’d be dealing with your pacifist sister, or the genocidal Chara. Time after time, I watched Frisk defeat Flowey, only to reset. Time after time, I watched Chara kill everyone I knew without remorse. No matter what happened, though, our story never reached any kind of ending. Frisk would always reset, and I just couldn’t let Chara achieve her goals of annihilation, no matter how much I wished the resets would end. And so… here I am, still living in an unending cycle.”

            Tears return to Sans’ eyes, but he quickly wipes them away. His smile grows in size when he turns to look at you, but it’s painful how fake it is.

            “Heh… I’m a mess,” he sniffs. “Sorry. This is probably pretty uncomfortable for you.”

            “No, I… I don’t mind,” you say softly.

            “You aren’t angry with me?”

            “‘Angry with you?’” you repeat, genuinely surprised. “Why in the world would I be _angry_ after listening to all of that?”

            “I killed your sister,” he points out numbly, his smile falling away just as quickly as it’d formed. “Several times.”

            “From what I gather, it was for a good reason,” you counter. Then you sigh, trying to find the best way to communicate the reeling mess of information and feelings that’s trying to sort itself out in your brain.

            “Well, everything you’ve told me… it’s pretty hard to believe,” you concede. Sans’ pupils dim a little bit and he looks away, unable to meet your eye.

            “But you don’t seem crazy,” you say quickly. “And if you’re not crazy, then logic says that you’re either lying to me, or you have to be telling the truth.”

            Sans slowly turns to look at you, the slightest hint of hope making its way onto his face.

            “You’re really emotionally connected to everything you told me,” I continue. “So I… I don’t think you’re lying. Therefore, no matter how hard it is to believe… you have to be telling the truth.”

            Tears are slowly welling up in your eyes again. You try to blink them back, but it has the opposite effect this time—they start to roll down your cheeks.  

            “It… it must’ve been so hard…” you murmur. “I-I can’t even imagine…”

            You sniff and wipe your tears away with your sleeve, only to remember that you’re borrowing the jacket from Sans.

            “Oh… sorry,” you mutter. “I forgot that this was—”

            You gasp as you suddenly find yourself wrapped in Sans’ arms.

            “Thank you,” he murmurs. “for letting me talk to you.”

            “U-uh…” you stammer. Your face feels like it’s on fire. “No problem.”

            “This is the first time you’ve ever fallen down here,” he says softly. “That’s gotta mean something, right? I can’t help but hope that maybe… maybe this is it. Maybe now that you’re here, Frisk will stop resetting. But hope is dangerous. If she does reset, I… I don’t know what I’ll do.”

            It takes you a moment, but you eventually return his hug. Even though he’s entirely made of bone, he’s strangely cuddly.

            “I don’t know how much use I’ll be,” you murmur. “But I’ll do everything I can to help. Just don’t give up, okay? There are people here that need you.”

            “I…”

            “Sans, I know what kind of things run through a person’s mind when they’re desperate. I know what you were thinking about when you were alone up there. You can’t do it. Nothing good will come of it. Okay?”

            “…Okay,” he says, releasing you.

            “Good,” you sigh. “Like I said, I’ll try to help any way that I—”

            “(Y/N)… are you blushing?” Sans asks, doing a wonderful job of changing the subject.

            “…Yes,” you say. “A guy I met an hour or so ago just hugged me—of course I’m blushing.”

            That obviously wasn’t the response he was expecting, because that mysterious blue tinge automatically enters his cheekbones again.

            “And so are you,” you add, smiling. The blue of his blush grows exponentially darker at your comment.

            “…Maybe a little,” he admits, turning away to try and hide it. “Welp, we should probably get back to Paps and the kid. In the time we’ve been gone, they’ve probably found a way to burn the house down.”

            “Has that happened before?!” you exclaim, suddenly worried. You’d left your backpack at Sans’ house, and you’d rather not have your last worldly possessions go up in flames.

            “No. Well, not at my place, at least,” Sans says, throwing you a wink. If anything, it makes you even more anxious. Sans stands up, and you quickly follow suit, readying yourself to run back to Snowdin at full speed.

            “Hold on there, Buttercup,” Sans says. “I know a shortcut.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This marks the end of the longest chapter yet--if I'm doing my math right, it's almost twice as long as all the others. (Woo!) I apologize if it was a little info heavy. I was never very good at writing expositionary stuff.  
>             Anyway, in other news, thank you Bebe for the idea of using "Buttercup" as a nickname. It has absolutely nothing to do with the main character's personality or talents, but... it's cute, and it stuck. For anyone who has no idea what I'm talking about, Sans' is going to be calling the you Buttercup from now on. (That way, I don't have to write (Y/N) as many times.)  
>             One last thing. I have a challenge for everyone. I want to know if anyone can guess what the main character (your) soul's trait is. Hint: it's not one of the cannon seven. (In other words, it's not determination, patience, bravery, integrity, perserverance, kindness, or justice.) Think about how the character's been acting so far, and let me know what you think. This will play a HUGE role in the story later.


	8. An Old Friend, A New Façade

Your Perspective

            You sigh and collapse on your bed, the events of the day leaving you both emotionally and physically drained. The moment you had gotten back to Sans’ house, Papyrus had dragged you back out again to help him “recalibrate his puzzles.” In other words, you had to complete every single puzzle between Snowdin and the ruins.

            Now, that in itself didn’t seem like a terribly hard task. And it wouldn’t have been… if you had only needed to solve them _once_. Papyrus never seemed to be entirely happy with their difficultly level, and he had to make them just a little bit harder every time you successfully passed through. It was tedious work, and you’d eventually started to fake being stumped just to satisfy him.

            Sans and Frisk had tagged along, of course, but they’d been content to let you do all the dirty work, sitting on the sidelines and egging Papyrus on. Some friends. You can’t help but groan as you remember the smirk that’d been on Sans’ face as he watched you struggle, a pun always ready on his lips. (Er… teeth? Whatever.) The point is, it had been _infuriating_. Never in your life have you been so glad to get home.

 _It may have been tiring,_ you think, _but it’s nice to have friends again._

            It’s been a long time since you’ve talked to anyone besides Frisk, and it’s been _ages_ since you’d last had someone you could genuinely call a friend. Your last attempt at friendship… well, it hadn’t exactly ended well.

 _And moving away from the city didn’t help,_ you think, an enormous yawn escaping you. _It pretty much killed any chance I had of a social life._

            You cringe, deeply regretting your inner monologue’s choice of words.

_Why does everything in my life seem to revolve around some kind of killing?_

            Before you can come up with an answer, your eyelids gradually grow heavier, and the world slowly starts to fade away as sleep finally overtakes you.

 

***

 

            The next time you open your eyes, you find yourself in the middle of an endless expanse of… emptiness. There seems to be some kind of invisible ground beneath your feet, but beyond that, there’s absolutely _nothing_ here _._ No matter where you look, no matter where you turn… all you find is an unending, all-consuming, blackness.

            _Wh-where am I?_ you ask yourself shakily. _What is this place?_

            If you had to identify the place, you’d call it a void… but that doesn’t make very much sense. Voids aren’t exactly things that exist naturally. And besides, weren’t you just in bed a Toriel’s? How did you even _get_ here? You find yourself crossing your arms, the pressure of your own grip somehow comforting amidst the uncertainty of your current situation.

            _This… this place has to end somewhere, right?_ you ask yourself, trying to think logically. _Nothing goes on forever._

As you see it, you only have two options open to you: you can stay here, or you can move forward. With a sigh, you pick the latter, taking your first few uncertain steps into the void. At least this way, you’ll be more likely to find an exit… if there is one.

            After what seems like hours of walking, a shiver slowly makes its way up your spine as some primal instinct tells you that you’re not alone. You falter in your path for a moment, fear starting to take root in you. Someone else is here… and they are very, _very_ interested in you.

            As if confirming your thought, a child’s laugh echoes throughout the void. Never before has a sound exuded so much bloodlust… or filled you with so much terror. Your breath catches in your throat as you break into a run, your feet pounding almost painfully against whatever invisible ground is beneath them. You have to get away. You don’t know why, but your instincts tell you that you have to get away.

            A dark chuckle resounds from everywhere and nowhere, as though its owner finds your actions entertaining, but completely pointless. You can’t help but agree—it’s not as if there’s anywhere you can run to. That doesn’t keep you from trying, though. You sprint as fast as you can through the darkness, arms pumping and breath coming in gasps as you struggle to escape the mysterious presence that hunts you.

            Suddenly, your foot catches on something unseen to you and you go flying, sliding several feet along the ground before reaching a painful stop. Your heart beats erratically in your chest as you move to push yourself up, desperate to get to your feet before the owner of the voice catches up to you. Before you can raise yourself so much as five inches, however, you find yourself confronted by a pair of translucent, brown boot-clad feet. You go rigid, and slowly look up.

            Standing over you is a slowly shifting, ghost-like figure. It seems to be a young girl, about the same age and height as Frisk. She has a similar sense of style as Frisk, too—she’s wearing jean shorts and a green-and-yellow striped sweater. However, that’s where the similarities between the two end. The girl’s blood-red eyes are full of malice as she stares down at you, and her broad smile gives her an unsettling air of insanity. You’ve never seen her before. You’re sure of it. Yet, at the same time… something about her is almost… familiar.

            “Well hello, (Y/N),” she says, methodically turning a recently sharpened knife in her hands. “What a small world it is—fancy meeting _you_ again.”

            Your body shakes uncontrollably as you frantically scoot away from the figure. That voice… you _know_ that voice.

 _B-but that’s impossible,_ you think frantically. _She… she isn’t… she doesn’t look like…_

            The girl giggles at your terror, her smile growing wide enough to almost split her face in two. 

            “Aww… (Y/N), don’t you recognize me?” she purrs, taking a lazy step forward. She runs the sharpened edge of the knife against her thumb, testing its sharpness.

_No. No, nononononono._

            You manage to stagger to your feet, and waste no time in sprinting away from the girl at top speed. Before you can make any significant distance, the girl appears in the air in front of you, as though she’d teleported. You can’t slow yourself down in time, and you scream as your momentum drives you straight into her outstretched knife.

            “Is that how you greet an old friend, (Y/N)?” she asks, a fake pout making its way onto her face. “That’s not very nice.”

            You scream again as she forces her knife out of your stomach. Your knees give out soon after, your body too weak to hold you upright anymore. Blood gushes from your wound, the red of it creating a splash of color in an otherwise black world. You whimper as she moves to stand over you again.

            “Don’t look so scared, (Y/N). I can’t kill you here,” she says lazily. “This is just a dream, after all.”

            She brings her knife up again, looking at your pathetically trembling form in its reflection.

            “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun,” she continues, smile making its way back onto her face. “Oh, but before you go, would you do me a teensy-tiny favor? Tell that sweet little brother of yours that Charlotte says ‘hi.’”

_No… no, it can’t be…_

            The girl’s form flickers, as though she were a candle in the wind. When she settles again, you’re looking at a completely different person. Her previously short and shaggy light-brown hair is now blond and wavy, a red ribbon holding it away from her face as it spills past her shoulders. Her eyes are a leaf green color, and there’s a spray of freckles across her nose. She’s wearing a knee-length checkered dress, and her boots have turned into black pumps.

            “Oh dear, I’m so sorry—I nearly forgot,” Charlotte giggles. “I killed him.”

            Unfathomable anger flashes through you, and you manage to stagger to your feet despite the stabbing pain that accompanies the action. You lunge at Charlotte with all of your remaining strength, but your movements are clumsy, and she easily step-sides you. You’re unable to regain your balance and fall to the ground again, a weak gasp making its way from your lips.

            “In that case, why not say ‘hi’ to your sister for me?” she asks as she saunters over to you. Her form changes again, until it’s not Charlotte, but Frisk that’s standing over you, knife in hand. “I’m sure she’s getting lonely without me. Such a shame—I liked being in her head.”

_In her head? Then this… this must be…_

            “Ch-Chara?” you stammer.

            “You catch on quick, (Y/N),” Chara says, beaming on you. “Yes, I’m Chara.”

            “But you… you sound like…”

            “A traitorous old friend,” she finishes for you, changing forms again to look like Charlotte. “Oh dear. Are you still confused? What a shame.”

            She teleports away, her voice echoing from behind you.

            “This timeline is going to be very… interesting,” she says. “I wonder… how long will it take before you snap?”

            You turn to face her, barely taking in the sight of ruby red eyes before her knife bites into your throat. You gurgle in pain, your devastated vocal chords not allowing you so much as a whimper. You can feel yourself slowly slipping away, the black of the void gradually being replaced by the red of your own blood.

            “Until we meet again, (Y/N).”

 

***

 

            You wake in a cold sweat and sit bolt upright, your hands flying to your throat, then to your stomach. There’s nothing there. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. It was just a dream.

            _But it had seemed so real…_ you think, remembering the sensation of Charlotte’s knife embedded in your stomach.

            You sigh, falling back onto your bed. You have a thousand questions that need answering, but you refuse to allow yourself to ask any of them. You haven’t thought about Charlotte or your brother in years, and it was going to stay that way. You can’t help but be relieved as the details of the dream start to fade away into uncertainty, and move to get up.

            “Mmm!”

            You turn to look across the room. You hadn’t even noticed that Frisk was awake.

            “What’s up, Frisk?” you ask groggily as you rub the sleep out of your eyes.

            _“What do you want to do today?”_ she asks. _“I haven’t shown you waterfall yet. Oooh, I could introduce you to the warrior fish!”_

“Sorry Frisk,” you say, yawning. “I’m pooped. I honestly just want to hang out here for the day—maybe write a little.”

            _“Aww… you’re no fun,”_ she signs. She hops out of bed and runs out of the room, before returning with your backpack.

            _“If we’re staying home, can you at least let me borrow your laptop? I wanna show goat mom pictures from the surface,”_ she signs.

            “Who said I brought my laptop with me?” you ask, obediently unzipping the topmost compartment of your computer bag.

            _“Since when do you ever_ not _have your laptop with you?”_ she points out.

            “What, you think I’d even lug it up the mountain with me on a rescue mission?”

            _“Am I wrong?”_

“No,” you sigh. Your laptop is pretty much the single most important object you own. Leaving it at home just wasn’t an option.

            You reach into your backpack, but quickly withdraw your hand again with a shriek of surprise. You stare at your finger, and watch as a single droplet of blood lazily starts to make its way down your finger.

            _What? Oh, no._

Dread encompasses you as you stare down into your bag, and then carefully start to take out the broken shards of what used to be your laptop. Thinking back on it, it makes sense that it’s broken—you’d landed on your backpack when you fell.

            _“Oh, no,”_ Frisk echoes.

            Your laptop was pretty much your entire life. Everything that’s important to you was on it—your stories, all your college work, your passwords, some of your favorite video games, your anime collection… not to mention your Youtube and Quotev accounts. You feel no shame as you start to cry over your laptop like you would over a dead child.

_My life… is officially over._

            Frisk tries to comfort you, gently patting you on the back, the same way that you used to do for her when she was little.

 _“There, there,”_ she signs. _“It’ll be okay.”_

            You simply shake your head. Even if you had access to the human internet from down here, it would take you _years_ to replace everything that you’d done.

 _“It looks like we’re going somewhere after all,”_ Frisk signs. You sniff, and start to wipe at your eyes.

            What?” you ask.

 _“I think I know someone that can fix your computer,”_ Frisk signs. _“I’m going to introduce you to the royal nerd.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>             Bet you didn't see that one coming. ;-)   
>             Anyway, I've been dangling information about your (as in the main character's) past by a string, haven't I? Well, I'm afraid this is all you get to learn for now. Don't worry, though. All will be revealed in good time. If anyone has any questions relating to what happened in this chapter, I may answer, so long as I don't give away too much information by doing so.  
>             Oh, and for anyone that's confused: Yes, Charlotte and Chara are the same person. In the interest of keeping your backstory secret, all I'll say is that Chara possessed this girl named "Charlotte," just like she sometimes does to Frisk. Why and how will have to wait until later.


	9. Meeting the Royal Nerd

Your Perspective

            “So, who’s this ‘royal nerd?’” you ask Frisk. The two of you are sitting on the deck of a large wooden raft, and are being ferried along a river by someone Frisk has (very originally) named the River Person.

            _“A-l-p-h-y-s,”_ Frisk says. You blink, trying to figure out how the heck you’re supposed to pronounce that.

            “Al-fis?” you ask, trying to sound it out. You made it sound like ‘Al’ (as in the name) together with something that sounds like the first syllable of ‘physical.’ Frisk nods. “Okay. And who is Alphys, exactly?”  
            _“She’s the royal scientist. She’s really good with electronics and stuff,”_ Frisk signs. _“She also accidentally made a bunch of zombie monsters, but she doesn’t like to talk about that, so don’t bring it up.”_

“Zombie monsters?” you ask, suddenly a little bit anxious to meet this scientist.

            _“Well, they aren’t_ zombies _, exactly,”_ Frisk signs, trying to explain. _“They’re just dead monsters that she accidentally brought back to life as mutants. They’re also very nice… but still, you probably shouldn’t ask about it.”_

“O-Okay then,” you mutter.

            _“Don’t worry,”_ Frisk signs. _“She’s really nice—and you both like anime! I’m sure you’ll get along great.”_

You fall silent as Frisk diverts her attention to the river, playfully letting her hands get swept along by the current. The air gradually grows warmer, and you’re eventually forced to take off Sans’ jacket.

_Wait… Sans’ jacket?_

            “Oh great,” you mutter. Frisk turns to you, a questioning look on her face.

            “I completely forgot to return this yesterday,” you explain, tying the jacket around your waist. “Maybe we should stop by Sans’ house on the way back.”

_“That’d be great!”_ Frisk signs. _“I can tell Dunkle my new joke.”_

            “Oh yeah? What joke is that?” you ask, grimacing. Your sister’s jokes are never very funny—they usually don’t even make sense.

_“Why did the chicken cross the road?”_ Frisk signs. That’s it. The joke’s already dead.

            “I don’t know,” you say tightly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why?”

_“To get to the loser’s house,”_ Frisk signs.

            “That’s… really good, Frisk,” you lie, forcing a smile onto your face.

_“I’m not done yet!”_ she signs, making a face. _“Knock knock.”_

            “Who’s there?” you mutter.

_“The chicken.”_

            The terrible-ness of the joke is slowly killing you on the inside. Frisk looks at you expectantly, awaiting your reaction. You manage to force yourself to laugh, and Frisk beams at you.

_I think I’m finally starting to understand why Sans and Frisk get along so well._

            “Tra la la. Uh oh. Suddenly, feeling tropical…” the River Person says. You flinch—you’d almost completely forgotten they were there. And, true to their word, the temperature is getting ridiculously high. Sweat rolls down your forehead in beads, and the river itself seems to be boiling, steam curling off of its surface.

_Oh, boy,_ you think. _No wonder they call it the Hotlands._

            You pull the neck of your shirt away from your body, trying to cool yourself off a little… but it doesn’t help. At all.  Even the breeze in this place is stifling hot.

            “This is even worse than the heat wave we had last summer _,_ ” you complain to Frisk. She smirks at you and spreads her arms wide, showing off the fact that she’s still wearing her sweater. She, unlike you, seems to be impervious to extreme temperatures.

            “Frisk,” you groan. “You’re some kind of superhuman, you know that?”

            She giggles at you and stands up, before turning to stare out into the distance. You follow her gaze, and see that there’s a break in the bluish stone that makes up the river wall. Reddish light spills from it, making the river sparkle and look almost purple in color. 

_“We’re almost there,”_ she signs. You carefully get to your feet, trying not to rock the raft as you do. The raft slowly drifts over to the riverbank, where it stops without any prompting.

            “Tra la la… all ashore who’s going ashore,” RP (the River Person) says. Frisk waves to RP before merrily jumping onshore and running off, leaving you in her dust.

            “Tra la la…  always rushing, always rushing,” RP says.

            You step off of the boat, and hiss in surprise as you feel the heat of the ground emanating up through your shoes. You uncertainly check your shoe soles, and sigh in relief. By some miracle, they haven’t melted.

            You thank RP for the ride and then hurry over to Frisk, who’s waving to you from beside a large metal building. You slow your pace as you draw closer to it, staring up at the large sign painted onto its front.

_‘Lab,’_ you read. _That’s… uh… predictable. What better place to find a royal nerd than in a giant lab?_

            The front doors are apparently motion sensitive, because they slide open as Frisk marches towards them. You, however, are more hesitant.

            “Um… shouldn’t we knock first?” you wonder aloud. Frisk shakes her head, and beckons you forward. “Well, if you say so.”

            When you step through the open doors, you can’t help but be taken aback by how contradicting the place is—it exudes both orderly experimentation and chaotic obsession. Somehow, the sterile characteristics that you normally associate with a ‘laboratory’ (white tile floors, cameras, exposed pipes, etcetera) are coexisting with what seems to be a anime lover’s paradise (in other words; a working computer and piles of empty ramen noodle containers). It kind of reminds you of your own room back on the surface.

            As you walk further into the room, you notice that there’s a large screen displaying security footage to the left. You pause in your path and stare at it, trying very hard not to judge what you’re seeing. The cameras seem to be entirely focused on Frisk, and they follow her as she moves around the room.

_That’s not creepy. At all. Definitely normal. Yeah._

            You hurry to catch up to your sister, who seems to be a little bit… confused, maybe? It’s sometimes hard to tell what she’s thinking.

_“Huh,”_ Frisk says. _“She’s usually here.”_

            “Well, that’s too bad,” you say, trying to hide your enthusiasm. “Maybe we should just go home, huh?”

            For some reason, you find this place a little unsettling. It doesn’t look like much of a working lab to you. Where are all the experiments? The equipment? …The zombie monsters? They must be around here somewhere… lurking… watching… You shake your head, trying to throw off your unease. Frisk is friends with this Alphys character, and that should be good enough for you.

_Besides,_ you remind yourself. _You should never judge a book by its cover. Aren’t I the perfect example of that?_

_“She’s probably just downstairs,”_ Frisk signs. _“I’ll go find her. Stay here.”_

            Frisk heads towards one of the lab’s automatic doors, but before she can go through it, a figure exits it. She looks almost like a... a yellow lizard. Or a dinosaur? A yellow dinosaur in a lab coat. Okay, sure. Why not? It wasn’t the strangest thing you’d seen down here.

            The two of them collide in the doorway, and Frisk ends up on the floor.

            “Oh!” the dinosaur exclaims. “S-sorry, F-Frisk. I didn’t s-see you there.”

            She helps your sister up, and then adjusts her glasses, which had gone askew when they’d run into each other. Frisk pulls on her labcoat sleeve, and then points to you. She turns to face you, and her face automatically contorts itself into… a grimace? You aren’t entirely sure what emotion that’s supposed to be. Pure awkwardness, maybe?

            “O-oh, I almost f-forgot,” she stutters. “Your F-Frisk’s sister, right?”

            You wonder for a moment how she knows that. Then you remember the security feed.

            “Y-Yeah,” you reply. There’s so much awkwardness in the air that it seems to be rubbing off on you. You clear your throat and try again.

            “Yeah, I’m (Y/N). But you, uh… you probably already knew that,” you say, glancing back at the screen. The dinosaur cringes, and goes to clean her glasses—a universal sign of nervousness.

            “S-sorry about that,” she mutters. “I j-just like to make sure Frisk’s d-doing okay. I’m A-Alphys, by the way.”

            “It’s nice to meet you,” you say. A stretch of silence passes between the two of you.

            You bite your lip and turn away, unsure what you’re supposed to do next. It’d been so easy to meet everyone so far—Toriel had instantly accepted you, friendliness was in Papyrus’s nature, and Sans… well, you could relate to him. However, that doesn’t change the fact that you’d been secluded on a mountain for several years. Despite how it seems, this kind of thing doesn’t really come easily to you. Luckily, Frisk comes to your rescue.

_“The laptop,”_ she reminds you.

            “Oh, right,” you say, sliding your bag off of your shoulder. “Um… I know it’s a lot to ask, but Frisk tells me that you’re really good with electronics and things, so, uh… if it isn’t too much trouble…”

            You take out the remaining pieces of your poor, shattered laptop.

            “Do you think you could fix this?” you ask, trying not to sound too needy. “It… well, it would really mean a lot to me… and… yeah.”

            Alphys stares down at your busted laptop with an expression on her face that almost exactly mirrored your own when you’d first realized it was broken. She obviously understands just how serious of a situation this is.

            “Oh my g-gosh!” she exclaims. “That’s h-horrible! Of c-course I’ll help!”

            Before you have time to find a proper reply, she takes the pieces away from you and whisks them off to a workstation that’s crammed somewhat haphazardly into one corner.

            “I don’t think I can s-salvage the casing, but I-I think the hard drive is m-mostly intact,” she says. “I know I have an extra l-laptop body around here s-somewhere…”

            Alphys turns into a whirlwind of activity, manipulating the green and black shards so quickly that it makes your head spin. Within what seems like minutes, she has a completely new laptop put together, and is in the process of transferring any salvageable data from your hard drive over to the new one. 

            “I’ve w-worked with human c-computers before,” Alphys explains, noticing your captivation with her work. “They’re a little d-different from m-monster made ones, so I c-can’t just put your old h-hard drive into the new body. You d-don’t mind… do you?”

            “Of course not,” you say dazedly. Your still somewhat in awe of how fast she did all of that. “That laptop looks… wow. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

            It’s love at first sight. The laptop has basically the same shape as an apple computer, but it’s made entirely of a shiny black metal, and it looks extremely thin and light—it’s maybe about half the width of your finger. And, as an added bonus, the keys even light up. You’d always liked it when keyboards did that, but you hadn’t ever really had the money to buy anything but old second-hand garbage.

            “It’s my own d-design,” she says proudly. “It should r-run a lot better than your o-old one. It was b-basically trash. Uh… no offense.”

“None taken,” you say empathetically. “It really _did_ suck.”

            You feel bad talking about your trusty old laptop that way, but, well… the truth is that it couldn’t even compete. Before you can go back to watching your files transfer, you feel a tug at your sleeve.

            “What’s up, Frisk?” you ask.

            _“I’m gonna go over to Snowdin, okay? I wanna play with monster kid,”_ she signs. You barely even register what she said. You’re too absorbed in Alphys’s work.

            “Yeah, sure. Go on ahead,” you say, turning back to the progress bar. Frisk has already left by the time you realize your mistake.

            _Oh, crap—I have no idea how to get back!_ You’re startled out of your thoughts as Alphys gasps sharply, looking at the transferring files in rapture.

            “I-is… is that?” she asks. She slowly turns to you, a gleam in her eye. “A-anime?”

            You briefly recall that Frisk said something about Alphys liking anime. A smile makes its way onto your face as you watch Alphys do a double take.

            “Oh my gosh!” she exclaims. “A-are you… an otaku?”

            “You could say that, yeah,” you confirm.

            “Have you ever watched Mew Mew Kissy Cutie? It’s the most awesome thing _ever._ It’s about these humans with cat ears that…”

           

***

 

            “Wow, this is _really_ good,” Alphys says.

            The two of you are in one of the lab’s back rooms watching anime. After realizing that she’d never even heard of half of the anime on your hard drive, you’d offered to watch a few of them with her while you waited for the rest of your data to get transferred. The two of you had decided on Madoka Magica, and after doing a marathon run of all three movies, she’s now completely engrossed with it.

            “Well, it’s not as good as Mew Mew Kissy Cutie, but it’s in pretty close competition,” she continues. Now that she’s more confident about being around you, it seems her stutter has disappeared.

            “Yeah. It’s one of my favorites,” you agree, smiling easily at her. Not only has her stutter vanished, but you’re also completely at ease around her now. You suppose that’s the power of sharing a fandom.

            “All the characters are just… wow. It’s all so deep. Tragic, but meaningful, you know?”

            “That’s why I watch it,” you admit. “I love all of their backstories.”

            “If you had to ship yourself with one of them, who would it be?” she asks, looking at you with an expectant gleam in her eye.

            “Hmm…” you hum thoughtfully. “Well, I’m more into guys, myself, but if I had to choose… Sayaka.”  
            “Huh. Really?” she asks, her eyes going wide. “Honestly, I think you and Homura would be a better match. Why Sayaka?”

            “Well, I guess I just see a lot of myself in her myself,” you say thoughtfully. “And… well, I really like the color blue. I can’t resist anything that’s blue.”

            “Huh.”

            “What about you?” you ask, a mischievous glint to your eye.

            “Kyoko. Kyoko is hoooot,” Alphys says immediately, a blush entering her scaled face. “But that’s probably because she reminds me of my girlfriend.”

            “You have a girlfriend?” you ask. “Lucky. I’ve never been in a relationship before.”

            “Really?!” Alphys exclaims. “But… but you’re so—”

She’s interrupted by a sharp ‘ding’ from the other room.

            “Oh, it looks like your laptop’s ready,” she says, grunting as she gets up from the couch. “Come on—let’s go check it out.”

            You follow her into the next room. After unplugging your now-smoking hard drive from the new laptop, she hands it to you, and then waits expectantly for your reaction.

            “This… is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” you breathe, slowly running your hand over its irresistibly smooth casing.

            “I’m glad you like it,” she says, beaming up at you. “It may look like an ordinary laptop, but I gave it a few extra features, too.”

            “Extra features?” you wonder aloud.

            “I’d tell you,” she says slyly, methodically adjusting her glasses. “But I think it’ll be more fun if you discover them on your own.”

            “Oh, being mysterious, are we?” you say jokingly. She smiles again, and glances over at your abandoned hard drive.

            “All of your old files are on your new laptop, along with your human operating system,” she says. “So… do you mind if I keep this?”

            “Keep it?” you ask, giving her a quizzical look. “Uh… sure. Why?”

            “Well… I mean, if you don’t mind… I want to copy over your anime collection,” she says sheepishly. “The only anime I can usually get my claws on are the ones that fall into the garbage dump, so…”

            “Oh, of course. No problem,” you say as you tuck your laptop into your backpack. “It’d actually be really cool to have someone to fangirl with.”

            “Yeah! You should come over again sometime—I still have to introduce you to Mew Mew Kissy Cutie!” she exclaims. “You’d really like it.”

            “I’m sure I will,” you agree.

            “Oh, here, I’ll give you my number—we can choose a day for it later,” she says, scribbling her number on a scrap of paper for you. You get your old-fashioned flip-phone out of your backpack, and start navigating to your contact list, only to realize…

            “Oh… no service,” you note with a sigh. “Of course. I’m underground.”

            “That _would_ be a problem,” Alphys says, a satisfactory grin lighting up her face. “If it weren’t for your fabulous new laptop.”

            “Huh?”

            “I know that I said I’d let you figure out all its tricks on your own, but… this is practically an emergency,” she says. “No one can survive nowadays without a phone. Press the power button three times fast.”

            You follow her advice, and watch in amazement as the laptop begins to fold in on itself. When it stops moving, it’s compacted so tightly that all you’re left with is a square of metal about the size of a smart phone. Then, you realize that there’s a good reason for that—it _is_ a smart phone. You’re left completely speechless.

            “Well, what do you think?” Alphys asks. As the silence continues to stretch on, Alphys seems to get a little nervous. “U-Uh… (Y/N)?”

            You turn to her, your eyes wild.

            “This. Is. Freakin’. Amazing!” you shriek, totally geeking out. “That was so cool! How did you _do_ that?! Some kind of magic? It’s amazing! Why don’t we have this kind of thing on the surface?! Thank you so much, Alphys!”

            You’re so happy that you actually end up hugging the shorter monster.

            “I-I didn’t do that much, really,” she says modestly as you pull away. She self-consciously fiddles with her glasses, but she looks really pleased with herself. “I’m just glad you like it.”

            “Like it? I love it!” you exclaim, trying (and failing) to keep from giggling hysterically. You turn it on, and while you’re unfamiliar with the details of it, it seems fairly similar to a human iPhone. You easily find the contacts app and register Alphys’s number.

            “Well,” you say, grinning like a manic, “I have my first ever contact! I can’t wait to show Frisk—this is so cool!”

            “Oh, I signed you up for the Undernet, too,” Alphys says, helping you navigate to the Undernet app. “It’s a social network site. I already friended you... t-that’s okay right?”

            “Yeah, of course,” you say, smiling at her. “After watching nearly six hours of anime with you, I definitely think you’re qualified to be my first Undernet friend.”

            “Great,” she sighs, looking relieved. “That was a little bit of a risky move on my part.”

            “Anyway, I should probably get going,” you say. “Wouldn’t want Toriel to start worrying about me.”

            “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” she says, smiling. “Message me later?”

            “Will do.”

            You wave as you head towards the lab’s front door, storing your awesome new laptop-phone hybrid safely in your pocket as you go.

            _Oh, wait. I still have no idea how to get back._

“Uh, actually,” you call, hesitating a few feet away from the front doors. “I have no idea how to get back to Snowdin.”

            “Um,” Alphys says, hurrying over to you. “That could be a problem. I’d ask Mettaton to escort you, but I’m still working on his repairs. And I can’t stand Snowdin… it’s too cold. Uh… I guess I could call Frisk for you—”

            The lab’s front doors suddenly whir open, and the both of you halt your conversation as you turn to see who it is. A familiar skeleton is nonchalantly making his way over to the two of you, looking around the lab with what you think you identify as nostalgia. When he notices that the two of you are staring, he winks at you.

            “’Sup,” Sans says, briefly taking a hand out of his pockets to wave.

            “S-Sans?!” Alphys exclaims, looking slightly put off. “W-what are you doing here?”

            “Welp, _tibia_ honest with you,” Sans says, grin growing ever so slightly as he pulls off the pun, “it wasn’t my idea. The kid sent me to make sure that Buttercup here didn’t get lost. She apparently has a really bad sense of direction.”

            You face immediately starts to burn, both at the nickname and at the truth behind Frisk’s statement. Sans notices right away, and you can feel your face kick it up a notch as he smirks at you.

            “Well, whaddya say, Buttercup?” Sans asks. “You need an escort?”

            “Well, I’m not going to say no after you came all this way,” you mutter, trying your best to look unperturbed. It’s not working very well, so you switch tactics, crossing your arms and looking away.

            _Why does he keep calling me Buttercup?!_

Alphys is looking between the two of you with an unidentifiable expression on her face. Then she slowly smiles, and you can see a mysterious glint appear in her eye.

            “Well, you two should get going,” she says quickly. She pushes you towards Sans from behind. “Wouldn’t want to keep Frisk waiting, right?”

            “W-woah, hey!” you protest.

            You lose your balance when she releases you, and you nearly fall into Sans. Luckily, you manage to catch your balance. When you turn back to look at Alphys, she looks almost disappointed that the two of you didn’t collide. It only takes her a few moments to perk up, though, and she looks noticeably excited as she scurries further into the lab.

            “I’ll see you later, (Y/N),” she calls over her shoulder. “Remember—you and I have a date with Mew Mew Kissy Cutie!”

            “U-uh, right,” you stammer, still somewhat confused over what just happened. “Sure.”

            You watch as Alphys practically runs up the escalator, and then disappears from view onto the second floor.

            _…What was that all about?_ you wonder.

            You shrug and turn to Sans, steeling yourself against the inevitable barrage of puns that you see in your near future. You open your mouth to say that you’re ready to leave, but words abandon you as you notice the blue tinge to his cheekbones… and how ridiculously close the two of you are standing. Your nose is practically brushing his forehead. You immediately take a step back, your blush easily reentering your cheeks.

            “S-Sorry!” you exclaim.

            “Oh, uh… it’s nothing,” he mutters, his gaze shifting away. “How about’s we get out of here?”

            “Y-yeah,” you stammer. Desperate to escape the tension in the air, you lead the way, practically running out of the lab doors. Sans easily catches up to you, and the two of you start to make your way back through the hotlands.

            “Oh!” you exclaim, untying Sans’ jacket from around your waist. “Here—I forgot to return this yesterday.”

            “What, that old thing?” he asks. “Keep it. I’ve got another one just like it.”

            “Huh,” you say. You hadn’t paid any attention to it earlier, but the jacket he’s wearing now is identical to the one you’d just offered to him. “Well, if you’re sure…”

            “Yup. You need it more than I do… and besides, it suits you,” he says, winking at you.

            “Alright,” you say, retying it around your waist. Then you turn to look at him critically, noting how comfortable he looks, despite wearing a fur-lined hoodie in the middle of a natural furnace. “Aren’t you hot in that?”

            “I’m hot in anything.”

            “Is that a skeleton thing? Or…” you trail off as you realize what he meant. You snort and roll your eyes at him. “Wow. Really, Sans?”

            “Heh. I couldn’t resist,” he says, his permanent grin widening. “Not when you set it up for me like that.”

            “You seem really happy today,” you note, mirroring his grin with one of your own. “Or… at least compared to yesterday, anyway. Did something happen?”

            “Not really,” he says, sighing happily alongside the words. “I’m just glad that it’s finally Friday.”  
            “Finally?” you ask.

            “Believe it or not, this is the first Friday I’ve seen in… oh, a year? Give or take a few resets?”

            “Wow. No wonder you’re happy—the weekend is right around the corner.”

            “Yup. My first weekend after nearly a year of nonstop sentry duty.”

            “That’s gotta be a big deal to you. Are you planning on doing anything?”

            “Nope. I’m doing absolutely _nothing_ ,” he says, a look of euphoria entering his face. “It’s gonna be great.”

            “Maybe I’ll follow your example,” you say. You can’t help but smile at the thought of spending a whole day doing nothing but writing and watching anime. “I really need some down time after everything that’s happened this week.”

            “Heh. I can imagine,” Sans says. “The Underground is probably a lot to take in at once.”

            Then he looks over at you, and the slightest hint of blue enters his cheekbones.

            “Well, y’know... if you ever need a couch to veg out on, you can always drop by my place.”

            You vaguely remember that Toriel’s living room didn’t have any couch in it—or a TV, for that matter.

            “I might just take you up on that,” you tell him.

            “Oh, and I almost forgot—Paps has officially invited you and the kid over for dinner tomorrow. He wants to show off his spaghetti collection,” Sans says.

            “Sounds good,” you say, gladly accepting the offer. Toriel’s been talking about making snail pie for the last few days, and it’s not something you’re really looking forward to.

            “I’ll warn you, though—my brother’s spaghetti isn’t always edible.”

            “That’s okay,” you say. “If worst comes to worst, I can always...”

            You trail off as a distant figure catches your eyes. It’s entirely grey, which makes it stand out against the orange of the Hotlands, and it seems to be staring right at you. You stop walking as you stare back at it, a shiver running up your spine.

            You can’t make out much from so far away, but there’s something kind of… _creepy_ about them. They seem to be a young monster, and, like Alphys, kind of resemble a dinosaur. Their striped, armless body is balanced by a reptilian tail, and spines form a line on the top of their head. However, that’s not what makes you uneasy.

Their body is completely grey, as though they’d had the color leeched out of them. You suppose that it could be natural, but instinct tells you otherwise. And their eyes… they’re completely empty. Lifeless. As your eyes meet their empty ones, a small smile crosses their face, as though they were happy to be noticed.

            “(Y/N)?”

            Sans voice sounds like it’s echoing from the far end of a long corridor—distant and indistinct. You barely register it as you continue to watch the monster. They cock their head to one side, and then the other… almost as if they’re trying to find the best angle to look at you.

            “(Y/N)?” Sans asks again, resting his hand lightly on your shoulder. His touch snaps you out of your stupor, and his concern-filled eye sockets lock with your eyes as you turn to look at him. “(Y/N)? Is something wrong? What were you looking at?”

            “Oh, uh… nothing important, really,” you say uncertainly. “It was just some monster kid. They were right over... there?”

            In the time that you’d looked away, the monster had vanished, as if into thin air.

            “That’s weird,” you mutter. “They were there a minute ago.”

            “…Are you sure it was a monster?” Sans asks, a hint of worry in his voice. “It wasn’t… Chara, was it?”

            A chill sweeps through you at the name, and it refuses to go away.

            “No. No, it definitely wasn’t Chara,” you say, trying in vain to fend off the goose bumps that are forming on your arms.

            “Well, either way—I’m not sure I wanna hang around here anymore,” Sans says. “You wanna take a shortcut?”

            “Yeah,” you agree. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”


	10. Souls and Spaghetti

Your Perspective

            After a night filled with dreams of blood-covered knives and empty-eyed monsters, you’re back at the house of the skeleton brothers. You and Sans are vegging out on the beat up old couch in their living room, just like you have been for the past four or five hours. In fact, you’re pretty sure that if you were to stand up, you’d find an impression in the shape of your butt.

            True to his word, Sans has done absolutely _nothing_ all day, while you’ve been furiously typing away on your new laptop. Even though you have no way of accessing your Quotev account, you just can’t bear to abandon your old stories.

            Frisk sits on the ground in front of the couch, playing on an old Nintendo 64 that Papyrus had apparently found in the garbage dump. She’s been alternating between Mario Kart 64 and Majora’s Mask, and she’s made significant progress in both.

            You take a break in your writing to watch Frisk as she plays Majora’s Mask. She has Link standing in the middle of Clock Town, and she has him watching the moon as it slowly makes its descent on the final day. She waits until the last moment to play the song of time, and the moon nearly falls on her before she resets the game’s timeline from the beginning.  

_How exactly does she reset time?_ you wonder. Last you checked, your sister wasn’t in possession of a magical ocarina. You almost want to ask her, but you don’t think Sans would be thrilled with you if you do that—he _had_ said not to mention the resets to her.

            You shrug the thought away and return to your story, trying to figure out how best to move it along without boring your (now nonexistent) readers in the process. The next major plot event is coming up, but you have no idea how to reach it without some kind of filler…

            “What’cha writing?” Sans asks, leaning in as he looks over your shoulder.

            You stiffen, trying to resist the urge to slam the top of your laptop down. You can handle it when people read your stories over the internet, but having someone read it in your presence, where you can actually see their reactions… well, it’s downright terrifying. And embarrassing. Especially since your story has a strong romantic undercurrent.

            “N-Nothing,” you say, subtly shifting the screen away from him. “It’s just a story.”

            “Oh yeah?” he asks. He completely ignores your body language and shifts just a little bit closer to you, so he can see the screen better. “What’s it about?”

            That question is the honest-to-god bane of all authors. How on Earth are you supposed to explain the depth of your plot to someone who hasn’t read it for themselves? It’s impossible—summarizing, by definition, is impossible. However, seeing how it’s Sans that’s asking…

            “Well… it’s basically about these two people with magic powers,” you say slowly, trying your best to explain. “One of them has absolute control over water, and the other one’s a cyborg with the ability to shapeshift. The two fall in love, and the girl tries to help the guy with his amnesia…”

            You trail off when you notice that Sans’ white irises have a kind of distant look to them.

            “…It’s complicated,” you finish lamely.

            “Sounds like it,” Sans says, raising a nonexistent eyebrow. “Humans with magic powers, huh? That’s a scary thought.”

            “But humans _can_ use magic… can’t they?” you ask.

            “Pfft. What? Of course they can’t,” he says. “Not on their own, anyway—they’d need a monster soul.”

             “But if that’s true, then how does…?” You look pointedly at Frisk, hoping Sans understands your question.

            “That doesn’t mean human souls aren’t powerful,” he says quietly, giving you a knowing look. “Her _determination_ is what let’s her… y’know…”

            You look at him blankly, your confusion written all over your face.

            “Souls are just theoretical, aren’t they?” you ask.

            “What, you mean you’ve never seen a soul before?” Sans asks. 

            “What do you mean, _see_ a soul?” you ask, completely dumbfounded.

            “Heh. Guess I’ll have to—” Frisk interrupts him before he can finish his statement. She rushes over to the two of you, and fishes her whiteboard out of your backpack.

_“I wanna show her_ my _soul,”_ she writes.

            “Alright. Go ahead, kid,” Sans says, going back to lounging on the sofa’s armrest. “Knock yourself out.”

             She beams at you and puts her hands on her hips, proudly puffing her chest out. You have no idea what she’s trying to accomplish. Then, as if out of nowhere, a ruby red heart appears in the air before her. It’s about the size of an apple, and it glows softly in the dim light of the living room.

            “What… what is that?” you ask. You’re pretty sure that your eyes are the size of saucers.

            “That, Buttercup,” Sans says, flashing you a grin, “is Frisk.”

            You scowl at him. Within three days of knowing him, his jokes are already getting old.

            “I can see that, Sans.”

            “No, I’m serious,” he says, smile growing at your expression. “That’s the kid’s soul—the very culmination of her being. That’s everything the kid is, was, or will ever be.”

            “Mmmhmm,” Frisk confirms. She runs around the living room a few times, her soul bobbing along with her movements.

_“It’s made of determination,”_ she says, her whiteboard once again in her hands. _“Or, that’s what Alphys tells me.”_

            “It’s her dominant trait,” Sans explains lazily. “That’s why her soul’s red—it’s made outta determination.”

            Suddenly, a ding resounds through the living room. Frisk’s soul immediately disappears, and she goes to fish her phone out of her pocket.

_“It’s Alphys,”_ she signs.

            “What’d she say?” you ask.

            She reads the text, and then seems to reread it. When her gaze finally leaves the screen, it has a kind of mischievousness about it. She looks from you to Sans and back again, a smile slowly crossing her face. You’ve seen that look before—it means trouble.

            “What’re you up to, Frisk?” you ask as she starts furiously texting with Alphys. She doesn’t answer your question, and instead picks up her whiteboard.

_“Hey Sans—where’s Papyrus?”_ she asks.

            “Dunno,” he says. “Undyne’s, maybe?”

_“’Kay. Thanks.”_

            She tucks the whiteboard under her arm and races out of the house, completely ignoring your inquiry after her intentions.

            “Something’s up,” you note. However, in the face of realizing for the first time that souls exist, it doesn’t bother you as much as it typically does.

_I wonder… what does_ my _soul look like?_

            “Seems like it... uh, (Y/N)? What’re you doing?” Sans asks, a bemused expression somehow manifesting itself onto his face.

            You freeze like a deer in the headlights, and you unintentionally hold the pose that you’d adopted moments before. You’d wanted to see what your own soul looks like, and so you’d decided to mimic Frisk in hopes that it would appear—complete with the puffed out chest and over-confident stance. Obviously, you had no such luck, and so now you just look plain ridiculous. In the stretch of silence that follows, your face has ample time to turn beet red. 

            “U-uh… I… I’m, uh…” you stammer. You quickly go back to your laptop, trying to hide your embarrassment behind its screen. “Nothing! Nothing at all!”

            “Let me guess,” Sans says, casually leaning over and gently forcing your laptop closed. “You’re curious what your soul looks like.”

            “...Yeah,” you admit, blushing profusely. “But I can’t seem to get it to show up.”

            “Well, posing dramatically isn’t gonna do anything,” he says. Then he seems to rethink his previous statement, and chuckles. “Your face though—that was priceless.”

            You groan and shove your face into a conveniently located pillow.

            “If you wanna see your soul so badly, I could help you out,” Sans offers. You don’t respond, as you’re valiantly trying to salvage whatever’s left of your pride.

            “Hello?” Sans asks. “You alive in there, Buttercup?”

            “No,” you mutter, your voice muffled. “I died of embarrassment.”

            “Hmm,” Sans hums thoughtfully. The room goes unnervingly silent, and then… he pokes you. You instantly extract yourself from the pillow, gasping for air as you’re forced to laugh. He got you right in the ribs, almost as if he’d already known it was your weak spot.

            “Heh,” he says. He pokes you again, sending you into near hysterics. “Knew it.”

            “Sans!” you squeak, trying to protest as he does it again. “Quit it!”

            After one final, defiant poke, he stops his assault and casually leans back on the sofa, closing his eyes as if nothing happened.

_Oh no,_ you think, a smile snaking its way across your face. _You’re not just going to get away with it._

            You examine his jacket to make sure you know where his ribs are, and take careful aim…

            “So, about your soul—”

            Sans makes a sound not unlike a strangled goose as you drive your finger forward, and make contact with… bone? No. No, it’s definitely not bone—it’s too squishy. Whatever you’re touching, it has a consistency not unlike jello. It’s really warm, too. The instant you made contact with it, a strange warmth spread all throughout your body, as though you’re some kind of heating lamp that’s just been plugged in. It’s a nice feeling.

            _Wow. What… what is this?_

You take a breath to ask Sans, but when you catch sight of his face, the words die in your throat. He’s staring at you in absolute shock, his eye sockets wide and his irises as big as full moons. His cheekbones are colored such a deep blue that they’re practically indigo, and his body is so tense that you’re afraid that he could snap in half if he moves too suddenly. As his irises dart down to his chest and back up to you, you slowly start to realize that you’re apparently touching something that you shouldn’t be.

            Your brow furrows in confusion, and you look back down at your own hand—you’d missed his ribs completely. In fact, whatever you’re touching it apparently a good two or three inches inside his rib cage… right where a heart would be on a human.

            “U-uh… Buttercup?” he ask shakily, putting a hand over his mouth and looking away. “Could you, uh… back up a little? Please?” 

            Your finger twitches, drawing a quiet moan from Sans. He tries to bite it back, but he’s largely unsuccessful—you shudder a little at the sound of it, and his deepening indigo blush is matched shade for shade by your red one. You quickly snatch your hand away, breaking the strange warm connection that had formed between the two of you.

            “I… I-I didn’t mean to—whatever that was—I-I’m so sorry!” you blurt.

            You’re passed the point of embarrassment; you’re pretty sure your face could fry an egg, and your brain has pretty much shut down. You’re no longer trying to make rational sense, and everything that comes out of your mouth is practically gibberish.

            “I was just trying to—‘cause you poked me and—I’m just gonna—bye!”

            Before Sans can say anything, you get up and run out of the house, desperate to get away from the profusely blushing skeleton before you can do anything else stupid.

            You’re not entirely sure where you’re running to, but the next thing you know, you trip on a rock in your path and fly face first into a nearby snowdrift. The biting cold of the snow feels incredibly good against your roasting face, and you’re content to lay there until you can be sure every hint of red has been drained from it. You know that you’ll have to go back eventually—you left all your stuff behind, and you still have Papyrus’s spaghetti dinner ahead of you—but you’re going to let things cool down first.

 

***

 

            You carefully close the door to the house behind you, trying not to alert anyone (especially not a certain skeleton) to your return. You sneak a glance into the living room, hoping to find it empty. Luckily for you, it is. You sigh and collapse onto the couch, putting a hand up to your now-frozen forehead. That had been _quite_ the episode.

            You take a deep breath and pick up your discarded laptop, turning it into its phone state. You start texting Alphys, picking up a conversation you’d started earlier about one of the anime she’d started watching from your collection. You also check your Undernet status, and are unsurprised to see that not much has happened since Alphys had signed you up.

            From the corner of your eye, you notice that a white shape is slowly making its way down the stairs. You go rigid, instantly assuming (and correctly so) that it’s Sans. You pretend to ignore him, and continue scrolling through your Undernet feed as if nothing happened. You try to keep the front up for as long as possible, but it’s kind of hard to ignore someone when they deliberately stand directly in front of you.

            You slowly look at him from over the top of your phone, a pink tinge already making its way back into your cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, but backs up a few paces and sits on the ground with a quiet ‘oomph.’ His gaze shifts away from yours as he notes your confused expression, and he pats the ground in front of him, apparently inviting you to join him.

            You’re more than a little uneasy as you do what he’s silently asking of you, leaving your phone on the couch and sitting on the floor across from him. You want to apologize again, now that you’re thinking straight… but there’s something about this situation that says it’s better to leave it alone, to let it fade into memory.

            “Hold still,” Sans says. He gives you no further explanation, and you’re still too embarrassed to ask for one. However, when he starts reaching for your chest… well, that’s a little bit too much.

            “Uh…” you say uncertainly, “…what are you doing?”

            “You wanna see your soul, right?” he asks.

            “Yeah, but, uh…”

            “Trust me.”

            He hesitates, watching you carefully for any signs of dissent. When you don’t give any, he continues. He stops just before he would have touched you, his fingertips just inches from the flat portion of your chest. You watch in fascination as ribbons of royal blue magic roll off of his fingertips.

            Sans makes a kind of grabbing gesture in the air, and then slowly starts to pull his closed fist away from you. And, simultaneously, it feels as if something deep inside of you is being gently tugged at. It doesn’t hurt, per say, but it definitely feels weird—tingly, as though some major organ inside you has fallen asleep. The further he pulls, the stronger the sensation gets.

            Then, finally, a glowing, sky-blue heart phases out of your chest, wrapped in ribbons of Sans’ magic. Sans lets his magic fade away, leaving the heart to float placidly in the air in front of you. You stare at it, trying to comprehend what it is you’re seeing.

            “This is my soul,” you breathe. It’s not a question. You know, intrinsically, that the sky-blue soul belongs to you. Something just seems so… so _right_ about it. It’s a little bit bigger than Frisk’s soul had been, and its glow is at least twice as strong—like the difference between LED and incandescent lightbulbs. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, and you have a hard time tearing your eyes away from it.

            When you do, however, you notice that Sans seems to be actively resisting the urge to look at your soul. His looks at the ceiling, over at the TV, over at the stairs… anywhere but at you.

            “Uh… Sans?” you ask uncertainly.

            He flinches when you call his name, and he slowly turns to look at you, still carefully avoiding looking at the glowing heart in front of you. You can’t be sure—not in the blue light cast by your soul—but you think he may be blushing again.

            “Y-yeah?”

            “Is something wrong?” you ask.

            “Nope. Nothing’s wrong,” he says quickly, looking away again.

            “Uh… Is there a _reason_ you won’t look at my soul, or…?” you ask awkwardly.  

            “Oh, uh… that,” he mutters. He laughs nervously. “Well, uh… it’s not really something I should be lookin’ at, _tibia_ honest with you. Heh, heh…”

            You graciously choose to ignore the badly timed pun, and instead cock your head as you look at him in confusion.

            “Huh?” you ask. “But you were fine with Frisk’s, so…”

            “Well, uh…” he mutters, determined to stare a hole into the carpet. “She’s just… y’know… a kid. And you… you’re not.”

            “What’s that got to do with anything?” you wonder aloud, now thoroughly confused. The subject is apparently a touchy one, because he doesn’t really give you an answer. “Maybe I should just put it away.”

            You go reach for it, intending to somehow push it back inside yourself. Before you can make contact, however, Sans grabs your wrist.

            “Don’t!” he exclaims. You blink and look at him, a questioning look on your face. “You shouldn’t touch your soul.”

            “What? Why?”

            “It’s… well, it’s kinda…” he mutters incoherently. He withdraws his hand, and uses it to rub the back of his skull in embarrassment. “Your soul is literally _everything_ you are, so when someone touches your soul, it can be… well…”

            His blush deepens to a royal blue, and he nearly chokes on the last word.

            “…Sensual.”

            _Sensual?_ you wonder. _What does he… oh. Ohhh. Then that thing I touched earlier was… oh god._

Your cheeks begin to burn again, and your mind races as you finally realize the implications of what you’d done.

_Nope. I’m not going to think about that._ You shake your head, trying to clear it. The deed has already been done, so there’s no point in dwelling on it. _Something else—think about something else._

            “S-so, uh…” you stammer, “how am I supposed to put it back, then?”

            Sans seems relieved for the change of subject, and pounces on it.

            “You should be able to move it if you think about it hard enough,” he say.  “It’s a part of you, after all.”

            “Okay…”

            You focus on trying to move your soul back into your body. Its light flickers a little bit, but beyond that, it doesn’t do much. You try again, and it moves maybe half an inch… in the wrong direction. You sigh in frustration as you try, and fail, again. (You’re apparently not very good at this.)

            “Um…” you mutter, watching as your soul begins to levitate towards the ceiling. “Little help?”

            “I’ll get it,” Sans says. He’s still stubbornly looking away, but he still manages to capture your soul in his magic. “Hold still—”

Just then, the front door slams open, and Papyrus and Frisk walk into the room, their arms laden with paper grocery bags. Sans freezes, your soul still in his magical grip.

            “WORRY NOT, BROTHER. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS (AND FRISK), AM HOME, AND HAVE BOUGHT ALL THE NECESSARY FOODSTUFFS FOR OUR SPAGHETTI DINNER!” Papyrus exclaims, triumphantly raising his bags into the air. He drops them, however, when he turns and gets a good look at you and Sans.

            “SANS…” he says, his voice just a little bit quieter than usual. “IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?”

            “Wh-what are you talkin’ about, bro?” Sans asks, a fake smile entering his face.

            “IS THAT (Y/N)’S SOUL?”

            “Soul?” Sans asks. “What soul are you talkin’ about, bro?”

            Before you can explain the situation, your soul shoots towards you, moving so quickly that you’re afraid it might actually hit you. It phases into your chest, but it doesn’t stop there. It was moving with so much force that you’re literally thrown across the room. Luckily for you, the couch was behind you.

            “Oww…” you mutter, rubbing your now-aching temples. You glower at Sans, who still has your soul wrapped in his magical grip. He flinches at your expression and immediately extinguishes the magic on his fingertips.

            “Heh heh…” he chuckles nervously. “Oops.”

            “OH MY GOD, SANS,” Papyrus sighs, face palming. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU SOMETIMES.”

            “Heh heh…” He winks and shrugs, as though that were an adequate response.

            “WELL, I’M GOING TO START THE SPAGHETTI,” Papyrus says, switching topics. He picks up the grocery bags and marches into the kitchen, Frisk in tow. “DO YOU WANT TO HELP, FRISK? THE GREAT PAPYRUS CAN SHOW YOU SOME COOL TECHNIQUES…”

 

***

 

            “BON APPÉTIT!” Papyrus exclaims, setting four steaming plates of spaghetti onto the dining table.

            “Don’t ‘cha mean _bone_ appétit?” Sans asks, his familiar mischievous smile making its way onto his face. You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling all the same. Everything is more or less back to normal, and you’re glad for it.

            “THAT’S WHAT I SAID, SANS,” Papyrus says, raising an eyebrow as he sits down in the seat to your right.

            “Heh, silly me,” Sans says, winking at you.

            “WELL, GO ON, (Y/N). YOU MUST TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS’S FAMOUS SPAGHETTI!” Papyrus exclaims.

            You nod and look down at your plate. It looks like regular spaghetti, but you can’t help but remember Sans’ warning that it may not always be edible. You glance over at Frisk as you raise your fork. She gives you a subtle thumps up from under the table, where Papyrus can’t see.

            _Frisk helped make it,_ you remind yourself, _and she wouldn’t make something inedible._

You take a bite. It’s a little bit dry, and the spaghetti sauce tastes a little funky, but it doesn’t kill you. You repress the furrowing in your brow, and manage a smile.

            “Not bad,” you say.

            _Not good either,_ you added to yourself.

            “NOT BAD…” Papyrus says. You think he sounds a little bit disappointed, so you feel that you should exaggerate a little. However, it’s amazing how oblivious Papyrus can be. “THAT MUST MEAN IT’S GREAT, LIKE ME! BECAUSE I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM VERY, VERY NOT BAD!”

            “Yeah,” you agree, smiling. “You’re a really cool guy, Papyrus.”

            “OF COURSE I AM!” he exclaims. “AND YOU ARE VERY COOL TOO, (Y/N). FOURTH COOLEST!”

            “Fourth coolest?” you ask. You’re not sure whether you should be flattered or insulted.

            “YES INDEEDY!” he exclaims.

            Then he enthusiastically digs into his spaghetti, leaving you in suspense as to who the three coolest are. Frisk follows Papyrus’s example, wolfing down her spaghetti with her normal level of enthusiasm. You and Sans are a little more reluctant. You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to finish all of it—Papyrus portions are significantly larger than what you’d deem normal.

            So, instead, you watch the others, specifically Sans and Papyrus. You’re somewhat baffled as to where the food is going. It goes in, and then… it just disappears, you guess. Papyrus’s stomach area is in full view, and there’s absolutely nothing there but his spine, no matter how much spaghetti he shovels down.

            “Where does it all go…?” you wonder.

            “It’s a secret,” Sans says, his permanent grin somehow exuding amusement.

            “Oh, geez. Did I say that out loud?”

            “Mmmhmm,” Frisk affirms.

            “WHY IS IT A SECRET?” Papyrus asks. “I KEEP MINE IN MY CLOSET.”

            “…What?”

            “MY STOMACH. I KEEP IT IN MY CLOSET,” Papyrus clarifies.

            “Oh come on, Paps, you can’t just tell ‘em—it’s no fun that way,” Sans says.

            “You keep your _stomach_ in your _closet_ ,” you echo, your head spinning.

            “THAT’S RIGHT. IT’S A VERY CONVENIENT PLACE TO STORE IT.”

            You look at Sans and raise an eyebrow, asking for an explanation. His grin grows ever wider.

            “Magic,” he says simply. He smirks at your expression of disbelief, and goes back to slowly twirling his spaghetti. You shrug, and let the matter drop. It’s not long before something else catches your eye, though.

            “You have a tongue?!” you exclaim, staring at Sans. He stops mid-bite to smirk at you. He slowly puts his fork down, and then… with a light dusting of blue on his cheekbones, he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s royal blue and glowing—obviously made out of magic. You’re not sure why, but that tongue, that expression… it’s cute. _Really_ cute.

            “SANS!” Papyrus exclaims. “DON’T STICK YOUR TONGUE—(Y/N), NOT YOU TOO!”

            You’d stuck your tongue out in retaliation, which had earned you a smile from Sans. You retract it at Papyrus’s urging, and you can’t help but giggle at his indignant expression.

            Frisk pokes Papyrus, and then furiously writes something down on her whiteboard. When she turns it towards him to read, she’s careful to do it in such a way that you and Sans can’t read it.

            “HMM…” Papyrus hums thoughtfully.

            He looks at you, then at Sans. He’s about to say something, but then Frisk pokes him again, and hands him the whiteboard instead. The two of them start what seems like a heated discussion, passing the whiteboard back and forth so quickly that you’re near certain that the both of their hand writing has to have been demoted to squiggles.

            They seem to reach a consensus, and they both turn to you and Sans, Frisk with a mischievous look in her eye, and Papyrus with a certain glint to his eyesockets that you can’t identify.

            “…What?” you ask.

_“Nothing ^_^,”_ Frisk writes.

            “NYEH HEH HEH!” Papyrus exclaims.

            You and Sans exchange glances, before shrugging and returning to your spaghetti. It’s not long before everyone’s cleared their plates (no matter how hard it was to ignore the weird taste of the spaghetti sauce), and Papyrus whisks them away into the kitchen.

            “Hey… kid,” Sans says, looking over at Frisk. There’s an unusual serious to his voice, and you notice that his permanent smile has almost managed to fall flat. (Almost, but not quite.) “I never got around to askin’ you—are you really okay with living down here?”

            Frisk blinks, and shoots him a strange look. You bite your lip, butterflies of apprehension starting to fly in your stomach.

            “I mean… you don’t wanna go back anymore?” he asks. Frisk’s confusion clears, and she smiles.

            _“No,”_ she writes. _“I’ve got everything I want right here!”_

“Oh yeah?” Sans asks. He still seems skeptical. You don’t blame him—according to what he’s told you, she’s kind of fickle about making these kind of big decisions.

            _“Yeah!”_ she writes. _“I have lots of friends now… no, I have a_ family _now. And now that my sis is here, well… who cares about a dusty old house?”_

Sans seems a little bit taken aback.

            “Don’t you… don’t you have anyone else?” he asks, a look of pity entering his irises.

            The butterflies in your stomach die, to be replaced with a sinking feeling. Your gaze slowly falls away from Sans, and you start to trace the lines of the table with a lightly shaking finger. You don’t like where this is going, but you have no way of stopping the conversation without arousing suspicion.  

            _“Nope. It’s just me and my sis,” s_ he writes. She’s still smiling. She’s always smiling.

            “What? No… no parents?” Sans ask quietly, sneaking a glance over in your direction.

            You grit your teeth, you finger shaking so hard that you can’t stay on the lines. You’d been hoping that this never came up. You try to catch Frisk’s eye, to beg her not to say anything else. However, she’s already writing on her whiteboard, and doesn’t even notice you.

_“Nope. They’re dead,”_ she says frankly. She seems a little bit more sober, but she doesn’t seem sad. It’s not surprising. She was so young when it happened… she doesn’t even remember them. Sans’ smile has almost completely fallen away.

            Frisk quickly turns the whiteboard around, and continues to scribble. When she turns the whiteboard around again, you go rigid. You’d forgotten that you’d told her that.

_“Monsters killed them,”_ Frisk writes. _“Or, at least that’s what the police said. Right, sis?”_

            Sans turns to look at you, his eyesockets as dark and empty as the lie that’d you’d told your sister.

            “ _Monsters_ killed them, huh?” he asks you, his voice dangerously low. A feeling of dread encompasses you as his smile artificially hikes up at the corners, transforming the once-friendly expression into a skin-crawling leer.

            “WHAT? MONSTERS WOULD NEVER DO SUCH A THING,” Papyrus says, returning to the table.

_“Yeah, I know,”_ Frisk writes. _“They probably just saw something that_ looked _like a monster. Like a bear! There are lots of bears on mount Ebott.”_

            “YES. IT MUST’VE BEEN A BEAR. …WHAT’S A BEAR?”

            You hardly pay attention to the conversation that ensues. You hate the way that Sans is looking at you. You were getting along so well just a few minutes ago. If you’re being honest with yourself, you might’ve even… but now, with this? The way he’s looking at you… it’s killing you.

            “(Y/N),” he hisses, “we need to talk. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>             Okay... where to start. This chapter just exudes randomness. And I'm sorry about that--I had a lot to cover, and it was really hard to transition things neatly into each other. It probably wasn't my best chapter, though it does have a good amount of fluff in it. :-)  
>             If anyone's confused about anything (there's a lot to be confused about with this one, I know) just let me know, and I'll try to straighten it out. As always, I'm always open to feedback.   
>             And, finally... the next chapter's gonna be really backstory heavy, so be prepared. Also, I figure it's about time we move back to Sans' perspective. I almost feel like I've been neglecting him. -_-


	11. Knives and Nooses

Sans' Perspective

            “(Y/N),” I hiss, “we need to talk. Now.”

            I promptly get up and storm into the living room, then turn and watch (Y/N) as she shuffles reluctantly after me. Her face is drawn tight in apprehension, and her gaze doesn’t leave the floor. That’s good—she knows she’s in for a bad time.

            “Sit,” I say, gesturing towards the couch. She does as I ask, and then risks a glance up at me. I cross my arms and glower at her. “So… _monsters_ killed your parent, huh?”

            “Sans, I-I can explain—”

            “I don’t wanna hear your explanations,” I growl, my voice dangerously quiet. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Any at all?”

            “I-I—”

            “I can’t believe it,” I mutter, chuckling darkly. “I always knew that there had to be a reason, but this? This is just… heh. A lie. My life is hell, because you told the kid a single, measly, stupid little white lie.”

            “Sans, I don’t… I don’t understand,” she says. “What do you—”

            “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” I hiss. I teleport to the space directly in front of her and plant a hand onto the wall beside her head. She flinches, and looks at me with something akin to fear on her face. “ _You,_ (Y/N), are the reason Frisk starts killing. _You_ cause the genocide runs.”

            The color drains out of (Y/N)’s face, and she stares at me in absolute horror, a shaking hand making its way to her mouth.

            “W-what?” she stammers.

            “Chara doesn’t always possess Frisk,” I say pensively, pointedly turning my back to her. “Why? She wants to destroy everything—why not try every single timeline? Why give Frisk the chance to break the barrier?”

            “It’s simple, if you think about it,” I continue, looking at (Y/N) from the corner of my eye. “It’s because she _can’t._ There’s no other explanation. And if that’s the case… then what’s different about a genocide run that allows her to take over Frisk?”

            I turn back to face her, smiling so hard that my teeth hurt.

            “The kid has to kill. It’s that first kill that sets the stage for everything else. But what would drive our sweet, innocent little Frisk to do something like that?” I ask sarcastically. “Oh, I know. How about coming face to face with her parents’ so-called _murderers?_ ”

            “Sans, that wasn’t my intent!” (Y/N) cries, her voice overflowing with conviction. “I’m so sorry! If I had known that monsters existed, I _never_ would have—”

            “Sorry? _Sorry_?! It’s a little too late for that, don’t ya’ think?”

            “Sans, please—”

            “Do you have any idea how it feels?! To stand on the sidelines, watching as every friend you’ve ever had turns to dust?! To watch your own _brother_ die at the hands of a psychopath, when all he ever did was welcome them with open arms?!”

            (Y/N) opens her mouth to protest, but she closes it again with one look at my livid expression. Instead, her hands are slowly clenching on the material of the couch, as though she needs something to anchor her.  

            “Sans, I—”

            “That’s an agony I have to live with every night, (Y/N). Every. Single. Night,” I hiss. “I can’t so much as close my eyes without seeing his body disintegrate, without seeing the kid holding a knife in her hand.”

            She screws her eyes shut and grits her teeth, almost as if my words are causing her real, physical pain. Somehow, the sight of it only makes me angrier.

“Ya’ know, when I met you, I thought I’d finally caught a break,” I say, my fake smile falling away as I stare down at her. “The way you talk, the way you act—I actually thought that you might be able to help me. That I could trust you. That you actually _understood.”_

“I do,” she murmurs. She sounds as if she’s on the verge of tears. “I _do_ understand, Sans. I _do_ —”

            “But instead, I find out that _you_ caused my bro’s death,” I say, taking a slow step towards her. “Even if it wasn’t intentional on your part, that doesn’t change the fact that it was _your_ fault!”

            She’s visibly shaking, and her grip on the couch is so tight that she might actually tear a chunk of it away. I know that I should give her the chance to explain herself, and it’s unfair that I’m not, but I don’t care. I’m irrationally angry, and I don’t care about _anything_ right now.

“Would it have killed you to tell your sister the truth? It would’ve made my life a hell of a lot easier. Heh, who am I kidding—it would’ve saved the lives of hundreds!” I exclaim. “What could possibly be _so_ bad that you had to go and give your sister the chance to become a psychopath?! You wanna explain _that_ to me, _Buttercup_?!”

            The moment her nickname becomes a bullet on the end of my sarcastic tongue, I know I’ve crossed a line. (Y/N) has gone completely still, and she’s giving me this feeling… like I’m looking at a soda can that’s been shaken too hard.

            “So _now_ you want me to explain?” she asks me, her voice deadly quiet. “After all that? You really _are_ a comedian Sans—that’s hilarious.”

            A pang of guilt speeds through me, and it turns into full blown regret as (Y/N) finally looks up at me. Her face is completely deadpan, and her (e/c) eyes completely devoid of emotion, every trace of her earlier anger artificially wiped away. I know her expression intimately—it’s like I’m looking into a mirror.

            “(Y/N), I…” I mean to apologize, but for some reason, the words die on my tongue.

            “You just found out that my parents are dead,” she says. She slowly relinquishes her grip on the couch, and takes a deep, shaky breath to steady herself. Then she stands up, looks me in the eye, and continues. “And the first thing you did… was accuse me of causing Chara’s murder sprees. How exactly am I supposed to react to that?”    

            “(Y/N)…” I murmur weakly. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say anything. Wasn’t I just yelling at her a minute ago? She walks towards the front door with a deceptive calmness, and doesn’t so much as look at me as she reaches for the handle.

            “I’m going for a walk,” she says quietly. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. And in answer to your question, Sans, I almost killed myself. _That’s_ how bad it is, and I’ll be _damned_ if Frisk ever has to go through that.”

            “Wait, (Y/N)!” I exclaim, springing forward in hopes of catching her before she leaves. “I’m sor—”

            The front door clicks quietly in my face, almost as if it’s deliberately mocking the heat of my earlier outburst. I can’t do anything but stare at the door in shock as the weight of my actions hit me.

            _…What have I done?_  

            “SANS!” Papyrus exclaims, a wide grin on his face as he runs out of the kitchen. “DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE ARE BEINGS ON THE SURFACE THAT ARE NEITHER MONSTER NOR HUMAN?! IT’S FASCINATING! YOU AND (Y/N) SHOULD HAVE STAYED FOR THE CONVERSATION—YOU MAY HAVE FOUND IT INFORMATIONAL!”

            I don’t say anything, unable to tear my gaze away from the door. The metaphorical soda can hadn’t exploded, like I’d thought it would. Instead, it’s imploding. _She’s_ imploding, out there… all alone…

            “NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT… SANS, WHERE’S (Y/N)? WEREN’T YOU TWO JUST TALKING?” Paps asks. “…SANS, ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!”

            _I killed her sister, and she didn’t so much as blink,_ I think guiltily. _But when she lied to protect her sister, I went ballistic. Some friend I am._

“SANS?” Paps asks quietly (as quietly as he can, anyway), gently laying a gloved hand on my shoulder. His touch snaps me out of my trance, and I turn to look at him. A somewhat concerned expression has made its way onto his face. “SANS… DID SOMETHING HAPPEN?”

            “I need to go after her,” I mutter.  

            I feel a tap on my other shoulder, and I turn to look at Frisk. She seems a little bit more solemn that usual. She quickly scribbles something on her whiteboard, and then turns it around with an accompanying nod.

            _“Go get her, Sans,”_ Frisk writes. _“She needs you.”_

Without so much as another word, I nod and rush out the door, determined to find (Y/N) and repair the damage that I’d so carelessly done.

 

***

 

            I’m standing on the edge of the forest, contemplating whether or not I should enter. After following (Y/N)’s footprints for nearly ten minutes, they’d lead me here… and then promptly disappeared. I stare at the ground, scowling at its inconvenient covering of pine needles. She’d obviously entered the woods, but beyond that, I have no way of knowing where she went.

            _What is she thinking, going into the woods by herself?_ I wonder. Then I grimace, remembering the look that had been on her face when she left. _…That’s probably my fault._

I take an uncertain step forward, and then another. It’s unlikely that I’ll find her, especially without a trail to follow. The forest is _huge—_ it makes more sense for me to go back and wait for her at home. But I can’t just leave her out here. Not alone. I take a breath and continue on, slipping between the trees as stealthily as possible.

            The woods are silent, just as they always are. Even my footsteps are muffled, the pine needles beneath my slippers serving to quiet the crunch of any leftover snow. Usually, it’s a peaceful kind of silence. Today, however… it’s the kind of silence that weighs on you, slowly wearing away at your peace of mind. I jump as a twig snaps under my weight, my magic automatically bathing the dimly lit woods in a hue of blue.

_It was just a twig,_ I tell myself, my magic flickering and then fading away.

            I continue on my way, shaking my head slightly. I don’t know why I’m so on edge. I’ve just got this weird feeling, as though someone out there is biding their time, watching us and waiting for the right moment to strike. I shake the thought away, and look around me, keeping a careful eyesocket out for (Y/N). She couldn’t have gone too far—I left the house not long after she did.

_I’m never gonna to find her like this._

            I draw a breath, getting ready to call her name. Moments before I would have, I hear something… a voice. I stop dead in my tracks and strain my nonexistent ears, listening intently. A distant song is blown to me on the breeze, (Y/N)’s voice echoing ethereally through the forest as she sings. As if in a trance, I stumble in the direction of her voice, the beauty of the melody completely ensnaring me. As I get closer, the words become clear enough for me to understand them.

([Entrepe, Sung by Amalee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c83HLDbLre0))

 

“Wild flower blossoming,

I beg of you, tell me this, so I know too…

Why do people fight? They all act as if it’s right…

Don’t they know that’s no way to live?

 

Valiant flower blossoming,

What can you see, when you look down on me?

Why can’t people say, that they’re sorry for the way that they fought?

I thought… they once could…”

 

            Through the trees, I catch sight of (Y/N). She's standing in the middle of a clearing, staring up at the crystal-littered ceiling of the Underground. She has her headphones in, and she sings along to whatever song it is she’s listening to. I hide behind a nearby tree, my mission temporarily forgotten in my overpowering desire to listen to her.

 

“When the sky has cleared, and rains have passed,

I still won’t forget the past.

You are not alone… on your own,

I remember you back then.

Trembling in front of me,

Crying deep inside, silently…

 

When you see… loved ones withering,

What do you do, with your remaining time—”

 

            I lean forward against my tree, her melodic voice inexplicably drawing me ever nearer to her. Suddenly, I lose my grip, and I tumble into the clearing, landing hard on my acrominon. My gasp of pain alerts her to my presence, and she immediately stops her song. I’m disappointed, but I have bigger things to worry about—like how she’s going to react to me. She takes her ear buds out as she turns to look at me, those beautiful (e/c) eyes wide.

            “Sans?” she squeaks. “How… how long have you been standing there?”

            “Eh, a good three or four verses,” I say lightly, trying to avoid creating tension. Internally, I’m all nerves, just waiting for her to get angry at me. What she ends up doing is the last thing I expect—she blushes, a delicate red spreading across her cheeks. It’s… cute.  

            “O-oh,” she stammers, turning away. “Well, um… this is embarrassing.”

            “Why?” I ask. I groan as I stand up, rubbing my shoulder. “You sounded really good.”

            “It just is,” she mutters. “Music helps calm me down. Walking on me while I’m singing is sort of the same as walking in during an emotional breakdown—it’s a coping mechanism.”

            “Oh, uh… oh.”

            “Yeah.”

            A long silence stretches between us, the awkwardness in the air almost tangible. I take a deep breath, gathering my courage.

            “(Y/N),” I say eventually, staring at the ground. “I’m sorry about earlier. I… I kinda flew off the handle, and I made some wild accusations… I’m sorry. I really am.”

            A dark look crosses her face.

            “It’s okay. I… I know where you were coming from. I mean, after all you’ve been through, I can’t really be all that surprised that you snapped at me,” she says. “I get it. And, well… everything you said is true, in a way. If I hadn’t told her that, maybe she wouldn’t have…”

            She sniffs, and turns away to quickly wipe at the tears that had formed in her eyes.

            _Oh no, I didn’t mean to… great,_ I think. _Great job, bonehead. You made her cry._

I hesitate for a moment, then take a step towards her and gently tug at her elbow, forcing her to turn and look at me.

            “No, (Y/N),” I murmur, “that’s not true. I know that I’m the one that told you that, but… please believe me when I say I didn’t mean it. The truth is that I have no way of knowing what happens to Frisk while she’s in the ruins—I have no idea what causes Chara to get to her. Everything I said was just wild speculation.”

            “But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” she asks sullenly. “That she would lash out against her parents’ perceived killers? I mean… if you came face to face with Chara, the person responsible for your brother’s death, would _you_ hesitate?”

            She has me there. I’d kill her without remorse. My silence speaks volumes, and a sad, knowing, smile crosses (Y/N)’s face.

            “I thought so,” she murmurs. “I don’t blame you. If I ever meet Charlotte again, I… I don’t know what I’ll do.”

            “Charlotte?” I ask. “Who’s Charlotte?”

            At the mention of the name, the sad smile that she’d adopted slowly falls off her face, to be replaced by an expression that’s strangely unreadable. She looks away, her body language warning me against asking anything else. I don’t want to press her. I really don’t. But after all this… I feel like I need to know. 

            “(Y/N)… what happened to your parents?” I ask quietly. Her face falls, and she gently pulls her elbow out of my grip. She turns to look up at the ceiling, a sigh escaping from her as she goes back to surveying the Underground’s crystalline stars.

            “My family’s history isn’t exactly a happy one,” she murmurs. “It’s not an easy thing for me to talk about.”

            _I’m pressing her too hard._

“If you don’t wanna talk about it…”

            “No,” she says. “No, I… I think you should know. You confided in me, so it’s only fair that I put the same trust in you.”

            Trust. Earlier, I’d said that I shouldn’t have trusted her. And now, here she is, willing to tell me something that obviously weighs heavily on her.

            _I really am just the scum of the Earth, aren’t I?_

I feel like I should say something else, but I remain silent as (Y/N) takes a deep, shaky breath, preparing for what’s apparently going to be a long explanation.

            “My… well, _our_ story… starts long before our parents died,” she starts, “back when we used to live in the city. …Back when there were three of us.”

            Trembling, she stops. Even though she hasn’t really said anything yet, tears are already starting to form in her eyes. I find myself taking a step towards her, and I reach out for her, meaning to wipe her tears away. But I freeze mid step, my hand falling back to my side. As much as I want to, I can’t do that to her. She doesn’t need anything else to think about.

            “Three of you?” I ask gently, spurring her onward. She glances over at me, and nods weakly.

            “We used to have a brother. I-I’ll… I’ll get to that,” she mutters. “Anyway, we used to live in the city. I was just a kid then—about Frisk’s age, I think—and I was pretty much Frisk’s opposite in every way. I was quiet, introverted… the kind of person that always sits in the corner, so she can survey everyone else in the room.”

            “As you can probably guess, that kind of attitude didn’t earn me very many friends. I was fine with that. As far as I was concerned, friends were nothing but distractions. In all the twelve years that I lived there, there was only one person that managed to infiltrate my attitude of indifference… my best and only friend, Charlotte.”

            Her voice catches on the name, and she takes a moment to regain her composure.

            “We were inseparable. We did everything together, from school work to sports… heck, she was practically a part of the family. She called my parents by their first names, and Frisk (who was four at the time) absolutely adored her,” she continues. “My younger brother did, too. He treated Charlotte like she was his second older sister—there were times when I was jealous of the attention he gave her.”

            It sounds like a happy memory to me, but her face tells me that nothing could be further from the truth. A sour smile crosses her face, and an angry gleam enters her eye.

            “Everyone _loved_ her,” she spits, as though she’s chocking on the words. “ _I_ loved her. In those days, even if everything was going down the drain, I could always rely on Charlotte. Little did I know, she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

            “I still remember every detail of that day… the day that she turned against me. It was just another school day like any other, and I was on my way to pick up my siblings like I always did. All of our schools were on the same grounds, you see, and as the oldest sibling, it was my job to pick them both up and walk home with them,” she continues. “Charlotte, as always, was with me. I’d forgotten my lunchbox in class, so I’d asked her if she could cover for me and pick up Justin. (Frisk had been checked out early for a doctor’s appointment that day, so I didn’t have to worry about her.)”

            “I’ll never be able to forget that look that she gave me. She was smiling, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t right, somehow. It was creepily enthusiastic, as though I’d just handed her a winning lottery ticket. ‘Of course I will, (Y/N),’ she said. ‘You can count on me. I’ll see you at home,’” (Y/N) says bitterly. “Obviously, when I got home, she was nowhere to be seen. She and Justin had just… disappeared. My parents, who were extremely overprotective, had a conniption fit. Justin was really responsible for his age, so he wasn’t the type to go running off—not even if it was with Charlotte. They called the police.”

            “The police weren’t nearly as concerned as my parents were, to say the least. In their minds, it was just the crazy antics of a couple of kids. That’s what I thought, too, at first. But then, as it got closer and closer to nightfall, I wasn’t so sure.”

            “Around midnight, the police finally decided to organize a county-wide search. They tracked the two of them to Mt. Ebott, where they were easily able to pick up the footprints of two children in the freshly fallen snow. According to experts, Justin went along willingly with Charlotte. Well, for a time, at least—something had happened between them, and Justin had tried to head back home…”

            She trails off briefly, her eyes focused on something faraway as she continues again.

            “Charlotte didn’t let him leave. The police found a scuffle in their tracks, accompanied by bright red splatters of blood in the surrounding snow. Charlotte wasn’t done, though. For some reason, she continued up the mountain, dragging Justin—dead or alive, I don’t know—along with her.”

            “I have no idea what her goal was. All I know for sure is that the police found my brother’s body inside Ebott caves, just yards away from the Ebott Abyss—the entrance to the Underground—stabbed to death with a kitchen knife,” she mutters, her voice practically shaking with rage. “She was my _one_ and _only_ friend. I’d known her for years, and I had gone through more with her than I had my own family. I loved her like a sister. And what did she do? She stabbed my little brother _twenty-seven_ times, in the back, with a kitchen knife from _my_ _own home._ ”

            The tears that she had been holding back slowly start to run down (Y/N)’s cheeks, but she doesn’t acknowledge them. She’s too far gone, too engulfed in her memories.  

            “Charlotte vanished without a trace, as if she’d evaporated into thin air. The police couldn’t find any footprints leading away from the caves, so all they could tell us is that she’d brought Justin’s body into the caves… and never left. They practically tore the place apart looking for her, but… nothing,” she says hollowly. “She’s probably dead. I hope she is.”

            (Y/N) slowly rips her gaze away from the ceiling and absentmindedly wipes away at her tears with the back of her hand. She seems to be deep in thought… I don’t even think she remembers that I’m here. I’m proven wrong when she looks at me, a small, bitter smile on her face.

            “You’re not the only one who’s looking for revenge, Sans,” she mutters. “I’m not usually the vengeful type, but for her… well, I’d be more than willing to make an exception.”  

            She hesitates for a moment, giving me time to say something. I would, but… I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure how to react.

            _She wasn’t kidding when she said that she knew how I feel._

“My parents were devastated,” she continues. “I was definitely upset—I mean, I’d lost my brother _and_ my best friend in the same blow—but they took their grief to a whole different level. They couldn’t bear to live in the city anymore. Justin was their golden child, and they just couldn’t take the memories that came with living there. So, to escape all of the bittersweet memories that came with our old life, they bought an old cabin in the forest of Mt. Ebott, and what was left of our family moved there.”

            “For a while, everything seemed like it was going to go back to normal. My parents put up a very believable front, pretending that everything was okay. They spent weeks fixing up the cabin, and they were really invested in Frisk and my homeschooling,” she says. “But it wasn’t long before their charade fell apart. They started to take hikes up the mountain, to visit the spot where Justin had been buried. It wasn’t very often, at first—maybe once a week. As time went on, though, they did it more and more often.”

            “Eventually, it became a kind of daily ritual for them. They’d leave at six in the morning, and come back the same time that night. When they were home, they were spending time alone in their room, talking about the past as though it were the only thing that mattered,” she mutters, a sour tone to her voice. “It got so bad that we wouldn’t see them for weeks at a time. They were always either locked in their room, or walking up the mountain.”

            “It was almost as if they’d completely forgotten that we existed. It fell on me to take care of Frisk, and I had to do my best to keep the household running. Cooking, cleaning, shopping… I did it all. I even learned how to pay the bills and file taxes, just to make sure that we had a roof over our heads.”

            “Through it all, though… I never blamed them. They were my parents. And in the eyes of a child, parents are incorruptible. But one day, they went up the mountain… and they never came back,” she says. Her voice is completely devoid of emotion, and her eyes are dull as they drop away from mine.

            “When I eventually went out to look for them, they were already dead. They’d hung themselves. I found them with the nooses still around their necks, dangling from the birch tree that overshadowed my brother’s grave,” she murmurs. “That was the worst day of my life. But it wasn’t their death that hurt. In a way, they’d been dead for months—part of them had left with Justin, and had never returned.”

            “No, it was the fact that they resorted to suicide. It was that they _left_ us, their own _daughters_ , behind,” she whispers. “I know how much losing Justin hurt them. I know that I can’t possibly understand the depths of a parent’s grief, but… I was furious with them. They had two very good reasons to live—Frisk and I. Why weren’t we good enough? Didn’t they care about us?”

            “That realization—that my own _parents_ cared more about a memory than _me_ , their own _daughter_ —killed me on the inside. When I went home, the first thing I did was get my hands on one of my dad’s pistols. As far as I was concerned, there was nobody left for me to care about. My brother was gone. My best friend had betrayed me. My parents had killed themselves, knowing full well what it would do to me. I thought that there was nothing left for me to live for.”

            “If it weren’t for Frisk, I… I would’ve pulled the trigger. She picked the perfect moment to walk into the room, looking all adorable in her footie pjs. _‘Sissy?’_ she asked me. _‘What’s that?’_ I couldn’t do it. I knew, in that instant, that I just couldn’t do it. Not if it meant leaving her alone…” she trails off, and then looks up at me. She attempts a smile, but it immediately falls away, and tears spring to her eyes.

            “I-I could never—after what it did to me… I could never tell her. Sh-she means the world to me. I… if she ever found out…”

            She sniffs and turns away, drawing the hood of my old jacket up. She seems to be trying hard not to cry, but the longer she prevents it, the harder it seems to get. Soon, she just… can’t hold it in anymore. She silently breaks down, her shoulders shaking along with her phantom sobs.

            Yet again, I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to say. I have no idea how to comfort her, even though I’m the one person down here that could possibly relate—who’s been in the same position.

_No,_ I think, correcting myself. _Paps is still alive. Thanks to the resets, everyone is still alive._ Her _brother,_ her _parents… they aren’t coming back._

            For the first time, Frisk’s resets seem like a gift.

            “(Y/N)?” I ask softly. She doesn’t seem to hear me.

_I hate seeing her cry._

            I want to help her. I want to help her, but I don’t know how. I follow my instincts, and take a step towards her. Before my head can override what my body’s decided, I find myself pulling (Y/N) towards me. She stiffens briefly, but then allows me to hold her close, her hands naturally finding a place pressed against my ribcage.

            “Hey… it’s gonna be ok,” I murmur. “You’re not alone anymore. Me, Paps, Toriel, Alphys… we’re your new family.”

            She doesn’t say anything, instead burying her face in my jacket and sobbing for all she’s worth. I hold her tighter, gently pressing a hand against the back of her head as she cries.

            “It’s all gonna be ok.”

            I sigh and close my eyesockets, treasuring the warmth that seems to flow from her… from her soul.

_Her soul..._

            I know what seeing another person’s soul means, but… I just couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at it. Heat enters my cheekbones just thinking about it. I’ve never seen another soul glow so brightly before, and that color… it was irresistible. Sky blue—lighter than integrity, but darker than patience. (Y/N)’s soul was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and her physical body comes in at a close second. I absentmindedly start to run my fingers through her (h/c) hair. It’s so soft… and the way it smells… 

_Why… why am I so… so… happy?_ I wonder. There’s just something about her…

            I have no idea how long we’ve been standing like this. It could be minutes, hours, days… I’m content to stay like this forever. However, it’s not meant to be. (Y/N)’s crying slows to a stop, and, sniffing, she gently pulls away from me.

            “Th-thanks, Sans,” she sniffs. Her voice is still kind of hiccup-y, and she’s wiping crazily at her splotchy red face. “I… I feel a lot better now.”

            “No…. problem,” I murmur dazedly. My head is still in the clouds, so I don’t make any attempt to hide my bound-to-be-blueberry cheekbones. If she notices them, she doesn’t say anything.

            “Sans,” she says quietly. She shoots me a shy, slightly mischievous smile.

_Oooh boy,_ I think. My soul pulsates from its place in my ribcage, and my blush kicks up a notch. _That smile… is adorable._

            “Thanks for letting me talk to you.”

            I vaguely recall saying the same thing to her when we’d first met.

            “Heh.” I chuckle, my trademark smile making its way onto my face. “Copy cat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>             Okay, first off, the song is Entrepe (sp?) from Guilty Crown, translated and sung by Amalee. I've just gotta say, Amalee is an incredible singer. Even though I've never actually watched Guilty Crown, this song somehow found its way onto my playlist.  
>             One last thing. Since everyone's been asking, I figure that I should clarify what my update schedule is. And, the truth is... I don't have one. My IRL stuff always comes first, and I don't wanna put any unnecessary pressure on myself, so I don't like to give myself deadlines. However, that doesn't mean I'm going to fall off the map! I love writing, and I'm not just gonna disappear. For a more concrete answer, my tentative goal is to update once a week, if not every five or six days.   
>             As always, feel free to ask me any questions you have!


	12. Bleeding Heart

Your Perspective

            _You’re wrapped in Sans’ arms, crying uncontrollably into his shirt. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to stop. This is unimaginably embarrassing for you, but at the same time… you don’t want to pull away from him. He emanates a strangely comforting warmth, and you find yourself practically melting into his arms._

_“Hey… it’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone anymore. Me, Paps, Toriel, Alphys… we’re your new family.”_

_Your heart thunders in your chest as he starts to run his skeletal fingers through your hair, and you find yourself sighing into his chest. You’d forgotten how good that feels._

_“It’s all gonna be—”_

***

 

            Your eyes shoot open, and you stare up at the ceiling of you and Frisk’s bedroom. You blink in shock, and then groan quietly as you turn over and shove your face into your pillow. You aren’t very happy with whatever it is that woke you up—it’s o’dark-hundred, and your dream had just been getting good.

You watch the glowing numbers of your alarm clock change as time moves inexorably onwards, each minute chasing after the other. The monotony of it relaxes you, and you allow your mind to start to wander. Of course, it decides it wants to return to that incident in the woods. Your face burns slightly as you remember the feeling of Sans’ arms wrapped around you, the sound of his voice as he tried to help you calm down…

You sigh, hugging your pillow close to you. You’ve never told anyone the whole story before. You’d always been terrified of what they would think… how they would act towards you. If it’s one thing you can’t stand, it’s pity. You’d gotten a lot of that after Justin’s murder. Before you moved, everyone looked at you as if you were some kind of sick puppy, and had walked on eggshells whenever you were around—as if saying the wrong thing would make you crumble away into nothingness.

But Sans isn’t like that. He doesn’t treat you like you’re made of glass, like those other people did. If anything, those few minutes in the woods has made him even more comfortable around you. It’s been a few days since it happened, and every time you visit the Skele-Bros’ place (which just so happens to be nearly every day), he’s always there, ready and willing to veg-out on the couch with you.

Your yawn quietly, and your eyelids start to grow heavy. Before you can fall asleep completely, though, an unhappy sigh emanates from the other side of the room. You groan as you roll over, fixating your little sister with a questioning look.

“Frisk?” you ask tiredly. She’s sitting up on her bed, staring blankly into midair. At the sound of your voice, though, she looks up, a troubled look on her face. “…Is something wrong?”

_“…Did I wake you up?”_ she asks. You can barely make out her signs in the light of her own alarm clock.

“No. Well… maybe,” you say honestly.

_“…Sorry,”_ she signs, looking dejectedly down at the floor.

“It’s okay,” you mutter. “Is something wrong? You normally sleep like a rock.”

She hesitates for a moment, and then looks away.

_“I think I lost something,”_ she signs.

“Lost something?” you ask, struggling to sit up. “What is it? I’ll help you look.”

_“No, that’s okay,”_ she signs. _“It’s nothing important. And even if it was, you wouldn’t be able to find it. Go back to sleep.”_

“Frisk, if you’re up at two am, it’s obviously important—”

_“No, it really isn’t,”_ she signs. _“I don’t even know what it does, so… and besides, I woke up ‘cause I felt funny. That’s all.”_

“Felt funny?” you ask, starting to get worried. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

_“No,”_ she says. _“I’m fine, sis, really. You should go back to sleep.”_

“Frisk…”

She looks at you, and her normal goofy smile slowly makes its way onto her face.

_“Sis, you’re hair’s sticking up.”_

“Frisk, are you sure you’re okay?” you ask, unwilling to let her change the subject.

_“I’m fine, sis,”_ she signs, her smile shrinking just a little bit. _“I promise.”_

You’re still somewhat suspicious, but your eyelids are as heavy as sandbags, so you decide that you can let the matter drop for the night. Besides, you’ve never known Frisk to lie to you. You yawn and fall back onto your pillows, allowing your eyelids to slowly slide shut.

“If you say so, Frisk,” you mutter sleepily. “You get some sleep too, okay?”

_“Okay, Sis,”_ she signs. _“Goodnight.”_

***

 

The next time you wake up, it’s to the buttery aroma of freshly made pancakes. The smell of them entices a growl from your stomach, and the promise of food makes getting up just a little bit easier. You yawn as you roll out of bed, and your body shudders as you stretch. You glance over at Frisk’s bed, and you aren’t surprised to see that it’s empty. Frisk always was an early riser.

You shrug and groggily get dressed, pulling on your usual jeans and T-shirt. It’s obvious that you’re not completely awake yet—you almost walk out of the room with your shirt inside-out. After grumbling about how awful mornings are and putting your shirt on correctly, you wander out of your room and over into the dining room. Sure enough, there is a steaming pile of pancakes on the table with your name on it. Literally. Toriel has written your name on it with chocolate syrup.

“Good morning,” you yawn, joining your sister at the table. She takes a break from her enthusiastic munching to look up at you, strawberry syrup all over her face. You snort at the sight of it, and can’t help but smile as you roll your eyes.

_She’s such a messy eater._

_“What?!”_ Frisk asks indignantly.

Instead of answering her, you lean over and drawn a finger across her cheek, before licking your now-sticky finger. She stares at you blankly for a moment, and then shrieks and grabs for her paper napkin, furiously wiping at her face. It’s not very effective. Pieces of napkin are tearing off and fixing themselves to her. When she turns to you for inspection, you practically die of laughter. She looks like some kind of chicken.  

“My children, what is going on in here?” Toriel asks. Your laughter has drawn her away from her post at the kitchen stove, and she’s now standing in the doorway to the dining room. You try to say something, but you’re silenced by another bout of laughter. Instead, you point to Frisk, who seems very confused.

“Oh—pfft—oh my,” Toriel gasps, fighting back a chuckle of her own. “That… that seems like quite the predicament, my child. Let me get you a wet towel.”

One wet towel later, your sister is still red-faced (but this time, it’s of completely natural causes). The sight of it brings makes you smile, and your smile stubbornly remains there even as you start eating your pancakes.

“So,” Toriel starts, joining the two of you at the table, “what are you planning to do today, my children?”

“Well, I’m probably going to Snowdin,” I say. “And Frisk’s probably going over to Alphys’s.”

            Now that you think about it, she’s been doing that a lot lately, even more than you have. (You’d visited a few times to watch Mew Mew Kissy Cutie.) Even stranger, she’s been taking Papyrus with her. According to Sans, the two of them have never met, so it seems kind of odd that they’re hanging out all of a sudden.

            “Actually, now that I think about it, what have the three of you been doing?” you ask, looking over at Frisk. “You seem to be planning something.”

            Frisk beams at you, and picks up her whiteboard.

            _“Oh, thanks for reminding me,”_ she writes. _“Hold on, I’ve gotta get something.”_

Frisk runs off, and when she returns, she’s carrying several envelopes.

            _Very… sparkly envelopes,_ you note as she hands you one. You cringe slightly as some of the bright pink glitter comes away, coating your hands and getting on your remaining pancakes. _‘You’re invited.’ Invited to what?_

You glance up at your sister, whose smile is so large it’s practically blinding. She races over to Toriel and hands her a similar envelope.

            “Oh, is this for me?” Toriel asks. Frisk nods, and then turns to you again, giving you a kind of ‘go on’ gesture.

            You shrug and slide the envelope open, revealing an extremely colorful hand-drawn invitation. The first thing you notice is that the handwriting isn’t Frisk’s—it’s really large, and it’s written in all capital letters.

            _“YOU ARE INVITED TO A ‘WELCOME TO THE UNDERGROUND’ PARTY FOR OUR GOOD FRIEND, (Y/N),”_ it reads. _“THERE WILL BE GAMES, AND FOOD. ESPECIALLY SPAGHETTI. ~~YOU WILL ALSO HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO HANG OUT WITH ME, THE GREAT PAPY~~ —”_

You smile as you read the crossed out portion. That definitely sounds like Papyrus. The rest of the invitation basically says that it’ll be held out in waterfall at the end of the week.

            “You’re throwing a party for me?” you ask Frisk. She nods enthusiastically.

            “But… Frisk, I fell down only a few days after you did,” I point out. “You’re the one that deserves a party—you’re some kind of hero down here. And besides, we still haven’t had your birthday yet, either.”

            She trades the remaining envelopes for her whiteboard.

            _“Oh yeah…”_ she writes.

            “Frisk, you have had a birthday recently?” Toriel asks.

            _“I just turned twelve,”_ she writes, nodding along with her statement.

            “Well, we must have a party for you!” Toriel exclaims. “You do not turn twelve every day, you know.”

“But we cannot change the party now; you have already made the invitations…” Toriel continues, looking down at her own, unopened, envelope. “I know. How about we have both, at the same time? That way, we can celebrate your birthday, as well as your sister’s arrival here. We can have twice the fun. What do you say?”

_“I like that idea!”_ she writes, her unshakable smile widening. _“Hold on, I need to let Alphys and Papyrus know—oh, and I’ll need to change the invitations, too…”_

Frisk quickly takes her invitations back from the two of you, and then scurries out of the room, her phone already in her hand. Toriel watches her go, a bittersweet expression on her face.

“Twelve… I have never seen any of my children grow up to be twelve,” she murmurs. “I… I had begun to think that I would never…”

She trails off as Frisk as runs back into the room. She gives you back your invitation, and you immediately reopen it at Frisk’s urging.

_“YOU ARE INVITED TO A ‘WELCOME TO THE UNDERGROUND’ PARTY FOR OUR GOOD FRIEND, (Y/N). (And Frisk’s twelfth birthday party. Presents are encouraged.)”_ you read. The latter portion is squeezed in right underneath Papyrus’s original writing.

_“I didn’t want to remake them,”_ Frisk writes, noting the roll of your eyes. _“It took a long time to get the glitter right.”_

“They look fine, my child,” Toriel says, opening her own invitation. “Oh, we are having it at waterfall? That sounds lovely—it is so beautiful out there.”

“MmmHmm,” Frisk affirms.

_“Sis, are you going to Snowdin again?”_ Frisk asks, noticing you as you get up from the table.

“Yep.” Frisk giggles mischievously.  

_“Let me guess—you’re going to see Sans again, right?”_ she asks.

“Yeah,” you say hesitantly. You wonder where there this is going. “Why?”

_“You seem to be spending a lot of time alone together,”_ she notes. She gets up and paces around you in a slow circle, a thoughtful hand raised to her chin as she studies you.

“I-I guess,” you stammer. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She giggles again, and then scampers over to Toriel. She scribbles something on her whiteboard and shows it to her, blocking your attempts to read it for yourself.

“Oh my,” Toriel says, a strangely mischievous smile lighting up her face. “I admit I do like the idea…”

Before Toriel can say anything too telling, Frisk pulls on her sleeve, and then points towards Toriel’s room. Whatever they’re discussing, Frisk seems to think it would be best not to do it in front of you.

            “Of course, my child. We would not want to spoil the fun, now would we?” Toriel asks, shooting you a knowing look. “It seems Frisk and I are going to discuss some things. Have fun in Snowdin, (Y/N). Give Sans my regards for me, will you not? He is such a nice young man.”

            And with that, Toriel follows Frisk out of the room, the both of them already starting up a hushed conversation. You continue to stare at the doorway long after they’ve passed through it, trying to puzzle out Frisk’s recent strange behavior.

            _What is she up to?_ you wonder, glancing suspiciously down at your invitation. You notice that the birthday party isn’t the only thing that Frisk’s added to the invitation—there’s a tiny little doddle in the corner, almost as if she drew it as an afterthought. _A heart. Well, uh… that’s cute, I guess._

 You shrug and store your invitation in your pocket, and then start to head towards the basement. You make it all the way to the exit, and are working on pushing the insanely heavy door open, when you’re interrupted by the sound of rapid footsteps.

_“Sis!”_ Frisk exclaims, her signs a little bit sloppy as she gasps for breath. _“Good, I caught you.”_

“What’s up Frisk?” you ask. In answer, she fishes several of her remaining envelopes out of her pockets, and then shoves them into your arms. The action surprises you enough that you stagger backwards. “Wha—Frisk?! What am I supposed to do with these?”

_“Since you’re going to Snowed-in, you can pass these out for me,”_ she signs. _“There’s one for Dunkle, Spaghetti Man, Fire Man, Monster Kid—”_

“F-Frisk, don’t you think this is a bit much?” you ask, glancing down at the mountain of invitations you’ve been given. “I-I mean, this is a lot of people, don’t you think? And I hardly know any of them…”

Frisk looks at the envelopes critically, and then nods her understanding. She takes back all of them except for three.

_“Yeah, you’re right,”_ she signs. _“It’ll work better if there’s fewer people.”_

She turns and goes to run off again, but you manage to grab the back of her sweater at the last moment.

“Work better?” you ask, feeling a little bit uneasy. “What do you mean, Frisk? What are you planning to do, exactly?”

_“It’s a secret,”_ she signs with a giggle. Then she wrenches herself free, and hurries back down the hallway, her laughter echoing off of its stone walls. You blink in confusion, and glance down at the invitations. There’s one for Sans, one for Papyrus, and one for someone named ‘Grillby.’

“Frisk, who’s Grillby?” you call. You’re too late—she’s long gone.

_It’s too early for her shenanigans,_ you think with a sigh. After carefully storing the envelopes in your backpack, you turn back to the door, and slowly force it open.

 

***

 

            Snow crunches rhythmically under your feet as listen to music through your headphones, your steps purposefully timed to match the beat. You do a quick spin as your music reaches its climax, and you can’t help but hum along with it. You’re in a really good mood for some reason, and not even the cold can dampen it.

 When your song fades out, you remove your earphones, carefully storing them in your pocket. It shouldn’t be too long now. Sure enough, you soon glimpse the lights of Snowdin twinkling on the horizon. The sight of them brings a smile to your face, and you find your heart beating just a little bit more quickly in your chest.

You’re about to break into a run, but then… something stops you. A strange feeling washes over you, and you stop dead in your tracks, every hair standing on end. You know right off the bat that you’re being watched, but at the same time… it feels like it’s much more than that. It takes you a moment, but you eventually identify what it is that has you on edge. It’s animosity. The very air is saturated with it, and it weighs on you so heavily that your previous happiness is easily stifled.

_Wow,_ you think, shivering. _Someone out there must really hate me._

You look uncertainly at your surroundings, trying to pinpoint the source of all this negativity. At first glance, nothing seems out of the ordinary. You’re completely alone out here—there’s not a single monster in sight. Then, a splash of color catches your eye. A flower. On the side of the road grows a single, solitary, very out-of-place golden flower.

_What?_ you ask yourself. _How did_ that _get there?_

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk over to it, crouching in the snow to get a better look. It’s definitely a flower. However, you have no idea how it managed to grow out here. Shouldn’t it be a little too cold for flowers?

Regardless, you reach for it, intending to stroke one of its petals. The flower draws away, hissing angrily at you. You jerk your hand back, your mouth opened in a silent scream. The flower… the flower has a face.

_How did I not notice that?!_

The flower rolls its eyes at your dumbfounded expression, before breaking into a painfully fake smile.

“Howdy!” it exclaims. “I’m—”

“Hold on a sec,” you mutter, interrupting it. You screw your eyes shut, count to ten, and then open them again. The flower is still there.

“Yes, I’m real,” it sighs, drawing one leaf across its’ face. “As I was saying, I’m—”

            “Flowey?” you ask, disbelief stretched across your face. “Flowey the Flower?”

            “Yep,” it hisses, its smile contorting into a disdainful leer. “That’s me. Flowey the Flower~”

            You slowly stand up and take a large step backwards, remembering everything that Frisk had told you about Flowey, the psychopathic flower. Frisk may have spared him, and Frisk might see good in him… but that doesn’t mean that you should trust him. And for good reason, it seems—Flowey’s smile is almost predatory as he studies you, and there’s no mistaking the hate that you feel emanating from him.

            “You know what’s going on, don’t you?” he asks slowly, eyes narrowing. His smile grows, and then his face twists into something… something that could have stemmed straight from your nightmares. Thoroughly unnerved, you take another step backwards.

“Well, in that case… I guess I might as well cut to the chase. What do you think, (Y/N)?”

            “I-I—”

            _I should run_.

You turn on your heel, and move to sprint away. Before you can, however, vines erupt from the ground at your feet. You cry out as they wrap themselves around your body, their thorns biting into your unprotected skin.

“Oh, we can’t have that,” Flowey says gleefully, a sing-song quality to his voice. “You have something that I want, (Y/N).”

His vines easily lift you up into the air, and you gasp in pain as their thorns are driven deeper into you. Flowey holds you so that your face is just inches from his own, forcing you to stare into the depths of his black, soulless eyes.

“Do you know what it is?” he asks, his playful voice contradicting his sadistic smile.

“I-I—” you stammer. “I d-don’t know.”

“I want your ability to reset.”

_My ability… to reset?_

“Frisk’s lost her determination,” Flowey continues, holding you a little bit further away from him. “Ever since you fell down here, she doesn’t have any reason to leave. And without her determination to see you again, she can’t reset. In fact, she’s completely lost her reset button.”

“W-What?” you ask. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You really don’t. How can somebody lose their _determination_? And what does he mean by a reset ‘button?’ Then, something slowly dawns on you. Last night, Frisk had said that she’d ‘lost something,’ and then rejected your help when you offered to try and find it. If you remember correctly, her exact words were ‘you wouldn’t be able to find it.’

_…Could it be that she was talking about her determination, something that you literally_ can’t find, _because it’s not physical in the first place?_ you wonder, piecing you sister’s odd behavior together. _And she said that she didn’t know what it did. In this timeline, she’s never reset, so she’s never used her reset button. And if that’s the case, then… what happened to it?_

Flowey is carefully watching your face all throughout your inner monologue, and he gives you a knowing look, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, huh?” Flowey asks skeptically. “Riiight.”

“W-well, yes, I do,” you say, correcting your previous statement. “But I’m not sure I under—”

“Of course you don’t understand,” he hisses. “I’m the only one that does. You see, _I_ used to have the button. _I_ used to control the timelines. Then _she_ came along, with all of her determination, and stole it from me.”

“What do you mean, _stole_ it?” you ask. You aren’t entirely sure you should be indulging your captor, but you’re genuinely curious. You still have no idea how Frisk causes the resets, and this flower seems to know a lot about it.

“Only the most determined person in the Underground can reset time,” Flowey explains. “That used to be me. I used to be a GOD. But then, Frisk came along, and…”

The vines around you tighten in response to Flowey’s anger, and blood slowly begins to seep from the wounds it causes. You would scream, but all you can manage is a whimper. The vines are so tight that the air is being forced from your lungs. Then, just when you think you’re about to pass out from oxygen deprivation, the vines slacken. However, the action doesn’t relieve your fear. Flowey is chuckling to himself, and when he looks up at you, he has an eerily self-satisfied look on his face.

  “But that doesn’t matter anymore,” he says matter-of-factly. “Because now that you’re here, she doesn’t have the reset button. Neither do I. So, I can only assume…”

            Your stomach drops.

            “…T H A T   Y O U  D O,” he hisses.

You struggle wildly, desperately trying to free yourself. It doesn’t do any good—you’re thoroughly entwined. The only way you’re getting out of this is if Flowey releases you himself.

            _I have to convince him to let me go somehow,_ you think. _It’s the only way._

You take as deep a breath as you can under the circumstances, and swallow your fear. This won’t work if you don’t sound confident.

            “I’m sorry,” you say, trying your best to sound genuine. “But I… I think you have the wrong person.”

            “Oh really?” he asks. He has an arrogant smile on his face as he pulls you closer to him, as if to observe you more carefully. “And what makes you say that?”

            “W-well, I’m not a very determined person,” you explain truthfully. “Definitely not the most determined in the Underground. And besides, my soul is blue, not red—and if red is determination, then my soul… well, whatever it is, it’s definitely not determination. So, logic says that I _can’t_ have… the…”

            You trail off in your rambling as Flowey’s face returns to “normal,” his creepy smile becoming more of a smirk.

            “Wow. You really _are_ an idiot. You _still_ don’t understand the human soul, do you?” he asks, a tone of superiority to his voice. “Well, allow me to teach you.”

            Flowey somehow forces your soul out of your chest, and you cry out as the pain of it radiates throughout your body. This is very different than your experience with Sans. Then, you’d felt safe. Now, though… you feel incredibly exposed. You try to make your soul move, to get it back into the relative safety of your body, but it seems to be frozen in place.

            “See that heart?” Flowey asks cruelly, baring his teeth. “That’s your soul, the very culmination of your being.”

            A smaller vine branches off from the larger one that holds you, and it points towards your soul, a thorn on its tip unnervingly close to it.

            “All souls have two parts. There’s the base…”

            Flowey drives the thorn deep into your soul. Every fiber of your being feels as though it’s being dissolved in acid, and your lungs burn as your scream pierces the air. Flowey laughs maniacally, and takes his sweet time pulling the thorn back out. You gasp when he finally extracts it and double over, your body aching as though you’d been run over by a bulldozer. You stare at your soul, terrified of what he’s done to it. Its glow is flickering, and a thick, silver liquid (not unlike liquid mercury) is slowly seeping from a deep, bullet-sized wound.

            “…And there’s a soul’s personal trait,” he continues.

A second smaller vine joins the first, and the two of them pinch the outermost part of your soul. You clench your teeth hard against the pain, and they threaten to break as Flowey pulls, the blue of your soul stretching out like stiff rubber. He looks you straight in the eye as he lets go, and you cry out as your soul snaps back into its usual shape.

“The base of a monster’s soul is made of things like kindness, hope and magic,” Flowey continues. “The base of a human’s soul is made out of _determination_ —that’s the silver stuff, by the way.”

You’re too weak to respond, and instead whimper pathetically as Flowey’s vines draw away from your soul. Your entire body is shaking like a leaf, and your soul is flickering rapidly, in sync with your racing heartbeat. Your every breath is agony as you watch your determination literally drain out of you, a single droplet collecting, and then falling, from the tip of your soul. 

“Since every human has an excess of determination, every human has the ability to override my right to the reset button,” Flowey continues, watching gleefully as another droplet joins the first, staining the snow by his stem silver. “But not every human acts on their determination. Frisk used to be _very_ determined. Not only is her base made of the stuff, but her trait is determination, too—a double helping of willful stubbornness. However, with you here…”

Your eyes widen, making Flowey laugh again.

“Do you understand _now_ , (Y/N)? All I have to do is take your soul, and I’ll become a god again. All I have to do… _is kill Y O  U_~”

Maybe you’re delusional, but you think you pick up on a hint of regret in his voice, hidden behind a sea of malice and sarcasm.

_…He’s hurting,_ you realize. _He may be a psychopathic maniac, but... I think he’s the one that’s in pain. Not me._

Your soul glows just a little bit brighter, and it becomes just a little bit easier to see the shadow of sadness etched into the yellow of Flowey’s face. And, despite everything he’s done, you want to help him.

_I guess that makes me a bleeding heart, huh?_ Sans would have been proud of the pun, if he were here. _…I wish he was here._

 You push the thought away. This is no time for self pity. You have work to do.

 “Why?” you ask weakly.

“What are you, brain dead?” Flowey asks, a look of disbelief entering his face. “I just explained it all to you.”

“N-no,” you gasp. “Why do… why do you want to reset? What are you… what are you trying to accomplish?”

“What does it matter?” Flowey asks, looking away. “It’s not as if you care.”

“…Everyone has a reason,” you pant. “Everyone... everyone goes down the wrong path for a reason. That’s… that’s just something that I… that I believe.”

Flowey looks up at you, a strangely sad expression on his face.

“What’s your reason, Flowey? Why… why are you doing this?”

For a moment, you think you might be getting through to him. The leaves that he seems to use as hands drop limply to his sides, and his gaze is searching as he looks at you. Then, he grits his teeth, his leaves curling into little fists as his body shakes in anger.

“People like you make me _sick!”_ he hisses, his nightmarish expression returning to his face. You squeak in pain as the vines around you tighten, long gashes appearing on your skin as Flowey lifts you high into the air. “You think you’ve got everyone _all_ figured out, don’t you?! You’re all high-and-mighty, just because you’ve got an empathetic soul.”

“F-Flowey,” you mutter. “Please, I was just… just trying to help—”

“It’s about time I ended this,” he says, his eyes glinting in the light of your ailing soul. “This timeline has gone on long enough.”

White, bullet-sized pellets form in the air around you, completely encasing your soul. They don’t look dangerous in and of themselves, but when they start spinning…

_That’s it. I’m going to die at the hands of a flower._

You grit your teeth and turn your head away. You don’t want to look. When you do, something in the snow catches your eye. A few yards away, there’s a large, ash grey head sticking out of the ground. A monster. Its eyes are wide as it watches what may just be your final moments, and it seems… panicked. You gather the last of your remaining strength.

“Help…” you murmur. You’re too weak to scream—you’ve lost too much determination. However, it doesn’t seem to matter. The monster looks up at you, and seems almost surprised when you lock eyes with it. 

“Wow, it’s amazing what happens when you damage a soul,” Flowey chuckles. You turn to look at him. “You’re delusional. Who’s going to hear you? There aren’t any monsters around for at least a mile.”

_No… I’m sure it heard me. There’s still hope._

You turn to look at the monster again, only to find that it’s vanished… if it had ever been there in the first place. Your eyes grow misty, and you can’t keep a few stray tears from rolling down your cheeks. Maybe he’s right—maybe you’d been hallucinating.

_Then I really am done for,_ you think numbly, completely defeated. You slump against Flowey’s vines and close your eyes, waiting for your inevitable demise.

“(Y/N)!” a frantic voice calls.

_That… that sounds like…_

Your eyes snap open, just in time to see a flurry of bones materialize in a flash of blue, one for each of Flowey’s pellets. The bones are nothing but blurs as they shoot through the air towards you, piercing and shattering the pellets with a scary amount of precision. Even though your soul is literally millimeters away, the bones don’t so much as scratch it.

Flowey hisses in surprise, and you suddenly find yourself falling through the air as he lets go of you. You land hard on your stomach, and a gasp as your soul is forced back into you. You try to get up, but you can barely raise yourself two inches without collapsing, your muscles giving out on you.

Sans teleports to the space in front of you and stares down Flowey, holding a protective arm out in front of you. Wisps of his blue magic stem from his fingertips, and it isn’t hard to imagine that his eye sockets are empty.

“ _Nobody_ hurts (Y/N) like that and gets away with it,” Sans growls. “You’re in for a bad time, bud.”

This is the first time you’ve seen Flowey look scared. Sans slowly raises his hand, but before he can do anything, Flowey ducks underground, vanishing from view. He… he’d actually run away. After all of that, he just… ran. It’s the last thing you’d expected. Sans remains in front of you, as if he’s waiting to make sure Flowey is really gone.

When he’s eventually sure that the two of you are alone, he kneels beside you and gently scoops you up. He staggers briefly under your weight, but somehow manages to start walking. (He’s stronger than he looks.) He holds you close to him, and you start to relax as his warmth slowly engulfs you. Somehow, it makes you feel a little bit better.

“He really did a number on you, huh?” Sans asks shakily, his tone hushed. You give a tired sigh in response, drawing yourself closer to him. The blood from your cuts is getting all over Sans’ jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. His grip on you tightens slightly, and you can feel a tremor run down his arms.

“If I ever see him again… I’m going to fucking _murder_ him,” he mutters. 

Sans’ dark tone surprises you, and you glance up at him. Your eyes widen when you see that his left iris is glowing royal blue, streams of magic flowing from it as if it were on fire.

“S-Sans?”

He doesn’t seem to hear you. The magic stemming from his eye flares as he holds you closer to him.

“If _anyone_ so much as _looks_ at you funny, I… I’m gonna…”

“Sans,” you repeat, a little bit more firmly this time. He blinks, as if he’s coming out of a trance, and looks down at you. However, his flaming eye doesn’t go away.

_How… why is it…?_

Your curiosity getting the better of you, you reach out and lay a hand against his left cheekbone, gently pulling his face closer to yours.

“B-Buttercup?” he stammers, a dusting of blue entering his cheekbones. “W-what’re you—”

“Your eye… it’s on fire,” you murmur.

“Oh, uh… that,” he mutters, his gaze shifting away from yours. It’s almost like he’s embarrassed.

“It _is_ normal… right?” you ask.

“Heh. Yeah,” he confirms, the magical flames dying down a little bit. “I’m just a little worked up, that’s all.”

You raise an eyebrow, still somewhat skeptical. You don’t think it’s normal for someone’s eye to catch fire. Even if it _is_ magical fire, and that person is a monster. He chuckles at your expression and the flames disappear completely, his normal white pinpricks slowly fading back into view.

“Better?” he asks.

“Better,” you reply.

Even though the crisis is over, neither of you moves away. You continue to stare into his eye sockets, marveling at how bright his irises are. You absent-mindedly draw your thumb across his cheekbone, enjoying the smoothness of it. You’d always expected bone to be hard, and it is—but somehow, at the same time, it’s smooth, and soft. Kind of like chalk, but without all the associated dust. Sans sucks in breath, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of blue as they heat up underneath your fingertips. It’s then that you realize just how weird you’re being.

“Oh! Uh, s-sorry,” you mutter, drawing your hand away. You squirm in his arms, feeling the sudden need to put some distance between the two of you. “Hey, I, uh… I think I can walk.”

“Are you sure? Your injuries—”

“I’m sure.”

“Well… if you say so,” he says uncertainly. For some reason, he seems to be a little disappointed as he sets you down.

As soon as your feet make contact with the ground, you begin to regret your decision to walk on your own. You suck in a pained breath as your chest starts to throb, and you only manage to stay standing through sheer force of will. Sans is watching you carefully, concern oozing from those white pinpricks of his. You try to take a step forward, but it doesn’t end well. Your legs give out under you, and you would have hit the ground if Sans’ didn’t catch you.

“Woah!” he exclaims.

“I-I’m fine,” you mutter.

“No, you’re not,” he says softly.

You have to agree. The world around you is spinning dizzily around your head, and you’re starting to feel nauseous. You don’t like to see Sans’ worried, though, so you try to hide it.

“I’m okay,” you mutter. “I just… I just need a second.”

“…Let me see your soul,” he says quietly.

 “I’m telling you, Sans, I’m fine—”

“Let me see your soul,” he insists.

“Didn’t you say that seeing another person’s soul is a big deal?” you ask in a last ditch effort to hide the damage.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” he presses. “If you’re hurt, I want—I _need—_ to know.”

You sigh and give in, putting a trembling hand to your chest. There’s no way you can win this argument, not when you’re so obviously hurt. You pull your hand away from your chest, and you wince as your soul phases out of you. After your run-in with Flowey, you’re finding it much easier to control your soul. Maybe it’s because the pain is making you more sensitive to it.

Your soul floats above your open palm, and you hold it out to Sans so he can examine it. It doesn’t look too good. It’s still slowly leaking determination, and its glow is a lot dimmer than you remember it being. You watch in equal parts fascination and horror as another silver droplet collects, and then falls onto your hand.

_It’s… so warm…_ you think dimly. Black spots dance across your vision, and you think you may have lost consciousness for a moment.

“Oh god…” Sans mutters, his irises disappearing.

Before you can ask him how bad it is, you suddenly get butterflies in your stomach, and the world fades to black as Sans takes one of his “shortcuts.” The next thing you know, the two of you are in the middle of Sans’ living room. He helps you to the couch, where you gratefully lay down. Then Sans’ turns and barrels up the stairs, moving faster than you would have ever expected from such a lazy individual.

“Papyrus!” he exclaims, his voice borderline panicked. You can feel a similar fear starting to take root in you. If Sans is calling his brother by his full name, then things must be serious. Your wound is apparently a lot worse than you’d originally thought. “Papyrus!”

When Sans doesn’t find him upstairs, he runs at full speed back down the stairs, and over to the kitchen. Magic flows from his left eye, and it hangs briefly in the air as he runs, making a strange, aurora-like trail in the air behind him.

“Papyrus! Oh god, where is he?!”

_Why is he so desperate to find Papyrus?_ you wonder.

            Sans disappears into thin air with a pop, apparently having teleported away to look for his brother. Without anything else to do, you stare at your soul as another droplet falls from it, creating a warm circle of silver on your already torn and blood stained shirt. A wave of exhaustion hits you, the black spots returning with it. 

            _Why… why am I so tired all of a sudden?_

A few minutes later, another droplet falls. Darkness gathers in your peripheral vision, and you can feel your heartbeat slowing down.

            _I’m… so… tired…_

Something appears in the air in front of you. It’s so faint that it’s barely visible, but it looks like… a word. A word encased in a rectangle, like some kind of button on a computer screen. It’s too muddled to make out what it says, though—if it’s even there in the first place. You might be hallucinating again.

            Your vision becomes blurry as yet another droplet falls. The pain that’s been plaguing you slowly fades away, leaving behind nothing but a numb, tingling sensation. You’d be glad, but as your breathing begins to slow down, you finally realize what’s happening to you.

            _I… I’m dying._

As the blackness at the edge of your vision moves in to claim you, the strange word that’s floating in the distance becomes clear, a neon blue sign shining against the dark backdrop that has become your world. A chill runs through you as you read it.

            _Reset._

Almost everything is gone. The skeleton brothers’ entire house has been claimed by the darkness of the void you find yourself in, with the exception of the couch you yourself are laying on. You sit up, your battered body somehow restored to its healthy state. You stare at the reset button, trying to decide whether or not you should push it.

You don’t want to—not when you know what that would do to Sans—but… what other choice do you have? You don’t want to die. Not after you’ve finally found a home, after you’ve found so many good friends… after you’ve found Sans.

_But will it matter?_ you wonder. _Frisk doesn’t remember anything when she resets—the odds are that I won’t, either._

That’s true. Everything will be wiped from your mind, and you won’t remember anything that you’ve done in this timeline. So, either way, it shouldn’t matter to you. However, you’re terrified of what you’ll do after you reset. What if you cause a genocide timeline? All it takes is one wrong move, one careless decision… Maybe it would just be better to die.

_But if I do that, then wouldn’t that mean that Flowey gets the power to reset?_

Flowey had been right about your inheriting the reset button, so he’s probably right about that point, too. When you think about all the damage that he could do with the power to reset, you make your decision.

Even if it means forgetting everything that’s happened to you, even if it means reliving everything you’ve ever done—you won’t let Flowey harm your friends. No, you won’t let Flowey harm your _family._ You get off of the couch and walk through the void to the reset button, slowly reaching out for it. 

_“(Y/N)!”_

You freeze as a familiar voice echoes through the void, your fingertips inches away from the button’s neon surface.

_“(Y/N), don’t you dare give up on me!”_

That’s Sans’ voice.

_“(Y/N), open your eyes.”_

You draw your hand away from the reset button.

_“(Y/N), please…”_

He sounds like he’s about to cry. You feel something hard and smooth—most likely Sans’ bony hand—slide against yours. When you look down, though, there’s nothing there.

_“…please don’t die.”_

Following some strange instinct, you turn around. The couch that you’d left is occupied. Occupied by… you. A ghostly version of you is lying on the couch with a ghostly Sans by her side, his hands clasping one of hers. Your hand makes its way to your mouth when you see just how awful you look.  

Long, ugly gashes crisscross the ghost-you’s skin, which has practically been painted red with all the blood you’ve lost. You’re extremely pale, and you can’t tell whether or not you’re still breathing. However, none of that really matters. It’s your _soul_ that’s the problem.

It’s still floating above you, but it’s so dim now that you can barely tell it’s glowing at all. It’s only half the size that it used to be, too—judging by the size of the silver stain on your shirt, you’ve lost a lot more determination than you thought. All its fluidity is gone, and fractures are appearing smack dap in the center of it. As you watch, parts of the blue outer portion are chipping off, disintegrating when they make contact with the air.

_“Papyrus, can’t you…?”_

When Sans mentions Papyrus, he slowly becomes visible to you, his ghostly form shimmering like a mirage. He’s kneeling beside your soul, and he has his hands on either side of it. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but your soul is completely encased in a swirling mass of neon orange magic. The outer rims of Papyrus’s eyesockets are glowing with the same shade of neon orange, and his nonexistent eyebrows are lowered in concentration.

_“I... I’M TRYING MY BEST, SANS, BUT I… I THINK SHE MAY BE TOO FAR GONE.”_

Papyrus’s voice is sad, and he sounds unusually mature. Tears spring to your eyes. Where did your tall, goofy, cinnamon roll of a skeleton go?

_“No. No! I can’t accept that! (Y/N), please, I…”_

Sans lowers his head, and you can feel wet patches appear on your shirt where his tears land.

_“…I can’t lose anyone else,”_ he whispers.

The sound of Sans’ anguished voice fills you with determination.

You take a step towards him. As you do, the darkness around you starts to fade away, and some of the feeling returns to your body. The sensation of his hand against yours becomes more real… more concrete.

You take another step. The scene before you becomes more lifelike, and you regain feeling in your soul. It’s not exactly pleasant. Your step falters as the pain of your dilapidated soul hits you all at once, and you nearly collapse. It feels as if someone is driving a knife into your chest, over and over and over again…

You suck in a breath and continue on wobbling legs. If there’s a way back, you’re going to find it. You aren’t just going to leave him—not if you have a choice. You manage to make it all the way over to the couch. The darkness recedes until you’re standing in the physical world again, your presence completely unnoticed by the two skeletons. However, you don’t stop to think about your newfound ghostly properties—you’re too preoccupied by another button.

            _Continue._

You press it without hesitation. There’s a flash of blinding white light, and everything fades away as you lose consciousness.


	13. Take Two

Your Perspective

“Sans!” you exclaim, your eyes shooting open.

            You sit bolt upright, and wildly look around. When you realize that you’re safe and in your own room at Toriel’s, you blink in confusion and take a deep breath, collapsing back on your pillows. You must have been dreaming.

            _Well, that was one_ depressing _dream._ _I think… I died?_

An uneasy feeling settles over you, and you stare up at the ceiling as you try to puzzle it out. Something seems… off. You aren’t sure why, but you have this feeling that you’re forgetting something. Something important. You try to remember the details of the dream, but the harder you try… the more muddled they become.

            _Oh well,_ you think with a sigh. _It was just a dream, anyway._

Even as you tell yourself that, though, you can’t shake your uneasiness. Something… something just isn’t right. You think on it for a few more moments, before shrugging to yourself and rolling out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it—no amount of brooding is going to force you to remember.

   The scent of freshly made pancakes wafts through the air, and you can’t help but sniff deeply, your nose in the air. They smell really good, like melted butter and chocolate… but for some reason, the idea of eating pancakes doesn’t really appeal to you. In fact, you’re not even hungry.

            _Weird._

You shrug the sensation off and get dressed, then head out towards the dining room.  

 

***

 

            You’re on your way to Snowdin, snow crunching dully under your feet. Normally, you’d be listening to music right about now. It’s a long walk to Snowdin, and it can get boring after a while. Today, however, you simply stare at the ground. You mind is in a daze, and you’re still trying to figure out why you’re feeling so strange.

            Breakfast had been hectic. You’d made fun of Frisk, you’d been invited to one, then two parties, and Frisk had basically turned you into a mailwomen. None of those things happen every day—it should have been a novel experience for you. But ever since you woke up, you’ve been having really bad cases of déjà vu. Like… _really_ bad. Every single thing you said, did, or even _thought_ was giving you déjà vu.

            It’s even happen right now, as you walk towards Snowdin. Dread hangs over you like a cloud, and you find yourself keeping an eye out for… something. You’re not really sure what that _something_ is, but even so, the thought of running into it is making you uneasy enough to look over your shoulder.

_This is crazy,_ you tell yourself. _There’s nothing out here but me—why am I so paranoid all of a sudden?_

            You shake your head vigorously, trying to clear it of the fog of uncertainty that seems to be hanging over you. It doesn’t work. If anything, it seems to be getting worse, as if your body is telling you that you’re slowly getting closer to the danger it’s trying to warn you about… whatever it is.

_I really need to talk to Sans,_ you decide. 

            That’s the other thing that’s been bugging you. Ever since you woke up, you’ve been having this… this insatiable _need_ to talk to Sans. This sense you’re getting goes beyond your friendship with the skeleton—something, some part of you, is urgently telling you that you need to speak to him…  

_…before something bad happens._

            A shiver runs up your spine, and you draw Sans’ jacket closer around you. You pick up your pace, your gaze locked on the horizon. Snowdin’s lights should be coming into view soon. Sure enough, cheery red and green lights slowly work their way into your line of sight, like a rising red and green sun over an ocean of trees. Relief washes over you, and you find yourself breaking into a run.

_I’m coming, Sans._

            You’re so engrossed in the lights that you don’t notice the vine that’s snaking its way across the ground in front of you. You breath catches in your throat as you trip on it, and your face stings as it makes contact with the freshly fallen snow. You groan and sit up, drawing a gentle hand across your face as you check for damage. Luckily for you, there isn’t any.  

            “Well, well, well,” a voice says. “Look who’s back from the dead.”

            You stiffen, and then slowly turn to face the owner of said voice. It belongs to a flower. A small, golden, _sentient_ flower. You should be surprised—you’ve never met a flower that can talk, much less one that has a face—but somehow, this flower seems almost… familiar.

            And it’s not the good kind of familiar, either.

            Terror shoots through you at the sight of it, and you scoot backwards in a blind panic, desperate to get away from it. The flower simply laughs at you. Its laugh sounds almost friendly, but its twisted smile, however…

            “W-wha—” you stammer. “Wh-who…?”

            “Oh, of course, silly me,” the flower says in a sing-song voice, disappearing into the ground. You flinch as it reappears directly in front of you, and scramble to get to your feet. You don’t look where you’re going, though, and you fall back on your rear after colliding with a pine tree.

            “You don’t remember me, do you?” it asks, its stem growing longer as it towers over you. “Then allow me to reintroduce myself. I’m Flowey.”

            “F-Flowey?” you stammer.

            You would say something else, but you aren’t thinking straight. Something about that voice, that… that _leer…_

            “That’s right. I’m Flowey. Flowey the Flower,” he says, baring his teeth at you. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, (Y/N)?”

            You’re convinced that you’ve never met the flower before, but your body doesn’t seem to agree with you. You’re so terrified of the thing that you’re actually _shaking_ , and all you want at the moment is to get away from it.

            “W-what do you want?” you ask. Flowey smirks at you, as if he’s amused by your ignorance.

            “Well, I _would_ explain it to you,” he says sweetly, “but I’m afraid I don’t like to repeat myself.”

            Flowey somehow forces your soul to phase out of your chest, and as it floats tamely in front of you, he stares down at it with an unfathomably greedy look on his face. As shudder runs through you at the feeling of exposure that comes with having your soul out against your will, and your back presses up against the tree as you instinctively try to move away.

            “Wow, (Y/N),” Flowey says, still using his cutesy voice, “your soul is pretty resilient, isn’t it? It’s completely unscathed—well… almost. Not even _you_ can pull off a complete recovery.”  

_What does he mean?_ you ask yourself.

            You examine your soul, trying to find whatever damage he’s referencing. Your soul looks the same as it always does—big, blue, and almost painfully bright. For some reason, though, the fact relieves you, as if you were expecting something a lot worse.

            _No, wait… what… what’s_ that _?_

The mark is so faint that you’d almost missed it. Smack dab in the middle of your soul is a tiny, jagged white line. It looks like some kind of… scar. The sight of it makes you instantly nauseous, as though your body has remembered something that you haven’t.

            _How… how did that get there? What’s going on?!_

“Golly, you must be so confused,” Flowey says, smiling wolfishly at you. “I should probably help you out, huh?”

            You get an especially strong sense of déjà vu as spinning white pellets appear in the air around your soul.

            “I’ L L  P U T  Y O U  O U T  O F  Y O U R  M I S E R Y!”

            You turn your head away as the pellets slowly start to close in, Flowey’s maniacal laughter serving as the soundtrack to your own personal horror film. Then, all of a sudden, everything feels… far away. Flowey’s laughter grows eerily faint, and time itself seems to slow down, the pellets slowing their approach on your soul.

_…What’s going on?_

            You look around in a daze, trying to find the source of the strange magic. Your gaze locks on a shape in the distance, grey and indistinct against the white of the snow. It looks like… a giant head. As you catch sight of the figure, it seems to smile at you. You and the strange monster stare at each other, each of you fascinated by the other. As you watch, the strange monster seems to shiver in the fabric of reality, pieces of it lagging behind it as it moves. The sight is almost surreal, little rectangles of grey hanging in the air for a few moments before catching up with the rest of it.

            _It’s almost like it’s… glitching,_ you think.

            The glitchy monster seems almost concerned for you. Its eyes are wide as it studies you, and it seems to be trying to say something. When it realizes that you can’t hear it, its eyes narrow in concentration, and a strange tingly sensation weaves its way around your head. You recognize the feeling instantly. It’s magic. A deep voice—garbled and indistinct—resounds throughout the confines of your mind.

            “(WINGDINGS)”

            Deep in the recesses of your mind, memories are stirring. This monster… you’ve seen this monster before, if only for a few seconds. You grit your teeth as the monster increases the magic it’s using on you, the pressure of it causing a headache to blossom. That’s not all, either—your déjà vu is insane right now.

            “(WINGDINGS)”

             Whatever the monster is trying to do, it doesn’t seem to be working very well. Your hands curl into fists as your head begins to throb, and you start to hallucinate. Two different versions of reality are actively overlapping each other, each vying for control of your perceptions. Half of the time, you’re sitting on the ground, your back to a tree. The other half, you’re high in the air, vines wrapped painfully tightly around you. It… it seems so real—you can even feel Flowey’s thorns biting into your skin.

            “(WINGDINGS)”

            Just as you think your head might explode from the weight of the monster’s magic, something clicks. And, just like that, you remember. You remember everything.

            _Oh god,_ you think, horror overcoming you. _I… I died. Flowey killed me!_

Your gaze is blank as you stare at the ground, your mind racing with all of your newly rediscovered memories. The more you remember, the more anxious you become.

            _Sans… if the last thing Sans saw was me dying, then…_

He may not know you’re alive.

            _I need to get to him! Before… before…_

“Hello, (Y/N)?” Flowey asks. His voice sounds as if it’s coming from the other end of a long tunnel, faint and echo-y.

            You don’t respond, instead trying to get a glimpse of the monster that had restored your memory. In the time that you had looked away, though, it had vanished—all that remains of it are a few rapidly fading glitches.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Flowey asks, his tone betraying his annoyance. “Earth to idiot. Come in, idiot.”

            You slowly turn to Flowey, your newfound memories making your fear melt away. Yes, you aren’t scared anymore—not now that you know that you can revive yourself. Instead, a feeling has aroused in you that you haven’t felt in a long, long, time. Anger.

            “You sure are a space cadet, aren’t you?” Flowey asks, his face harboring a hint of confusion. “Shouldn’t you be worried about the fact that I’m about to… hey! What are you—”

            “Oh, just shut up, will you?” you growl, standing up and brushing the snow off of your jeans.

            “Wh-what?” It’s Flowey’s turn to stammer. “H-have you forgotten that I have—”

            “Yeah, yeah,” you sigh. “You have my soul hostage. Big whomp.”

            You focus your attention on your soul, and get it to float between a gap that’s formed between two of Flowey’s pellets. Then, before he can reorganize them, you recall your soul back to you, allowing it to phase into your chest. Flowey blinks, his spinning pellets dropping pathetically out of the air as he stares at you. You can’t help but snort at the look on his face. His disbelief is hilariously ironic—it’s because of him you can control your soul so well in the first place.

            “Well, this has been fun, but I have stuff to do,” you say nonchalantly, pointedly turning your back to the dumbfounded flower. “See you around, Flowey.”

            You move to take a step forwards, but you don’t get very far. One of Flowey’s vines shoots out of the ground and wraps itself around your elevated ankle, pulling you off balance. You gasp as you land hard on the ground, the air leaving you all at once.

            “Hold on juuuust a minute, (Y/N),” Flowey purrs. He drags you through the snow towards him, additional vines bursting out of the ground and wrapping themselves around you as you struggle. “I don’t remember telling you that you could leave.”

            He raises you into the air and dangles you upside-down above him, so your faces are almost touching. Despite the discomfort that comes with having the blood rush to your head, you look him with defiance in your eyes, refusing to give in to his terror tactics.

            “ _I_ don’t remember telling _you_ that you could put your hands—oh, excuse me— _vines_ on me,” you reply coolly.

            “Wow, someone’s _feisty_ today,” Flowey chuckles, his smile widening. “Good. It’s so much more fun to kill people when they struggle~”

            “Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. One of Flowey’s eyes twitches at your unworried tone, and more vines wrap around you in response to his irritation.

            “It seems to me,” he hisses through his teeth, “that someone’s lost their fear of death.”

            “Oh yeah?” you ask uninterestedly. “That’s very discerning of you.”

            “Either you’re suicidal,” Flowey mutters, “which I doubt, or… you remember. You remember, don’t you, (Y/N)?”

            “Do I remember that you’re a psychopath that’s beyond reason?” you ask. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Now, if you’ll kindly let me go—”

            “Losing your fear of death is dangerous you know, (Y/N),” Flowey continues, feigning concern. “It leads you to make all kinds of stupid decisions.”

            “What, like killing people for their souls?”

            You must have struck a nerve, because the vines tighten around you, their thorns on the verge of piercing your skin.

            “Whatever happened to ‘you must be doing this for a reason?’” he asks sourly. “Aren’t you supposed to be _empathetic_?”

            “I tried that, remember?” you ask tiredly. “I _tried_ to understand—I _tried_ to talk to you. And what did _you_ do? You killed me. What am I supposed to do, Flowey? Fall into the same trap twice?”

            You can still see the sadness in him, but for once, you don’t try to ACT on it. After what he’s done to you, all of your sympathy for the flower is gone. He might have a reason for his actions, but this time around, you just… don’t care.

And Flowey seems to realize it. For a moment, you think you see a look of utter defeat flash across the flower’s pale yellow face. Just as quickly as it had appeared however, it vanishes, his usual horrific smile taking its place.

            “Well, if you aren’t afraid of dying anymore, I guess I can have some fun,” he says, his every word dripping with false happiness. “I’ll kill you. And when you come back, I’ll kill you again. Again and again… until you _beg_ me to take your precious little soul from you!”

            Flowey forces your soul out of your chest again, but this time, he wraps a vine around it, holding it in place. And instead of pellets, several vines erupt out of the ground by your head, each of them targeting your exposed soul. Remembering how much just _one_ vine had hurt, your body begins to tremble against your will.

            Despite what Flowey may think, you’re not completely fearless. You’re definitely scared… but you know that you have to stay strong. You have other people to think about. There are people out there—Frisk, Sans, Toriel, Papyrus—who need you. And so you take a deep, slightly shaky breath, and lock eyes with Flowey as his vines ready themselves to strike.

            “U N T I L  N E X T  T I M E,  ( Y / N ).”

            A floating, goat-like skull appears out of nowhere, a sphere of blue-white energy gathering in its open mouth. Flowey’s face falls as he slowly turns to face it, his fear betrayed in every drooping petal.

            “Not this time, _buddy_.”

            A beam of pure magic erupts from the skull’s mouth, bathing the flower in its glow. The vines that had been holding you turn brown as they start to wilt, and you easily break their now-brittle stems and free yourself, sliding gently to the ground.

            Somehow, Flowey managed to survive. He’s completely blackened, practically burnt to a crisp—but he’s still alive. Sans takes a step towards the flower, that strangely beautiful fire-like magic once again lighting up his left eye.

            “Get dunked on.”

            Flowey, with a look of complete and utter terror on his face, vanishes into the dirt. Once again, they’ve run away. You can see why. Looking up at Sans from your place on the ground, you can’t help but marvel at the amount of power that he’d just displayed.

            “Sans!” you exclaim, a smile lighting up your face. “I’m so glad…”

            You trail off as you catch sight of Sans’ face. His glowing eye has faded away, but his eye sockets remain empty as he stares at you, a heart-wrenching mixture of sadness and guilt on his face.

            "Sans?” you ask uncertainly. 

            “I…” Sans puts a trembling hand to his face, and looks away. “I…”

            “Sans? Are… are you okay?”

            A smile slowly forces itself onto his face, and he… chuckles. Or, he seems to be trying to pass the outburst of as a chuckle—in reality… it sounded more like a sob. Your soul twists in concern for the skeleton, and you stiffly get to your feet and reach out to him, intending to lay a hand on his shoulder bone. Before you can, however, he turns to look at you again. His irises flicker weakly in their sockets, as though they could disappear any second.

            “Good thing I got here in time, huh?” he asks, his lighthearted tone painfully fake. “If I showed up much later, you would’ve been in a pretty _grave_ situation.”

            A pained expression flashes across his face, as if he’d realized too late just how morbid that pun was.

            “Heh… sorry, Buttercup,” he continues shakily. “That wasn’t very _punny_.”

            He’s still trying to keep up that comic mask of his, even though you can plainly see the pain that lies beneath it. You take a step toward him, but he doesn’t react—it’s almost as if he’s staring right through you.

            “I… I thought that you… you were…” he mumbles, tears springing to the corners of his eyesockets. “But you’re not. You… you’re still here. Heh. Heh heh…”

_He sounds so broken…_

            You pull the skeleton into a gentle hug. He stiffens momentarily, and then goes completely limp in your embrace, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

            “Hey… it’s okay,” you murmur. “I’m alive, Sans. I’m here.”

            “I… last time, I… I didn’t make it in time,” he whispers. “I… he…”

            “I know,” you say gently. “I know.”

            He shakes his head from its place on your shoulder, and a tremor runs through his body.

            “No, you don’t,” he chokes out. “You don’t remember. He… he killed you, (Y/N). I… I couldn’t save you.”

            “But you _did_ save me,” you murmur. “I heard you… and I held on for you. I’m not going to let you lose anyone else, Sans. I promise.”

            Sans slowly pulls away from you. That comedian’s grin of his has completely disappeared, but the hope that you see shining in his irises more than makes up for it.

            “You… you heard me?” he asks. “You remember?”

            “Yeah.”

            “But… but how? Frisk… Frisk never…”

            “I don’t know,” you say. “I didn’t remember, at first. I’ve spent most of my morning reliving yesterday—well, I mean, last timeline, I guess?—but then, this weird monster showed up, and somehow… I don’t know.”

            While you rambled, a small but _genuine_ smile had made its way onto Sans’ face. When you’d finished, it widens just a little bit, betraying a hint of _genuine_ mischievousness.

            “Well, I’ve gotta say, (Y/N),” Sans says, “it’s good to _snow_ you’re alive.”

            You groan and roll your eyes, but you beam at him all the same. You hate to see him so depressed, and you’re glad that you managed to make him feel better.

            “Really, Sans? A pun? _Now_?”

            He teasingly nudges you with a shoulder, one eye closing in an extended wink.

            “Hey,” he says cheekily, “you sing, I crack jokes. Everyone deals with stress differently, Buttercup.”

            “W-wha—Sans!” you squeak, a red tinge entering your cheeks. “Why’d you have to bring that up?!”

            “Oh, come on,” he says, easily dodging your swat of retaliation. “Your singing is beautiful. You should do it more often.”

            “N-no!” you stammer. “I—I can’t—no!”

            “Why not?” he asks.

            “…I don’t like singing in front of other people,” you mutter. “I’m not that good.”

            “Well, you’re a lot better than me,” he says, walking with you as you continue on your way to Snowdin. “I sound like a cheese grater.”

            Somehow, you doubt that statement. Sans’ voice is so deep and smooth… you get the feeling that he probably sings a really good baritone.

            “I’ll be the judge of that,” you say, glancing slyly over at him. “Next time I sing something— _if_ I sing something—you’ve gotta do a duet with me.”

            “For some reason, I’m startin’ to regret this choice of topic.”

            “Hey, _you’re_ the one that wants me to sing—”

            Luckily for Sans, your body decides that a change in subject is in order. Your stomach lets out what seems like the loudest growl in the history of stomach noises, and you can feel embarrassment welling up in you. You should’ve eaten those pancakes at breakfast this morning—even if it w _as_ for the second time. Sans’ eyesockets widen in surprise, before chuckling gently at the delicate blush spreading across your cheeks.

            “Hungry?” he asks.

            “Y-yeah…” you mumble, looking away.

            “Welp, I know a place,” he says. “How about’s we talk about all this craziness over some burgers and fries?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>           *Takes a deep breath*  
>             AUTHOR'S BLOCK SUUUUUCKS!!!  
>             This chapter was supposed to carry the plot a lot further than it did, I'm afraid--and you probably noticed that I kinda just started rambling at the end there. However, everything will be okay from now on! Because we're all going to Grillby's, and Grillby's will solve everything! (Sorry if I'm not making much sense. I just finished my first ever AP history test, and so I'm basically brain dead. -_-)  
>             That's it. I'm done. Time to start on that homework I've been putting off. :-)  
>  Oh, and I was having lots of the issues here in AO3 with wingdings, hence just the word "wingding" instead of symbols. In the Quotev version this is what they said: Remember... Please Remember... Remember!


	16. Grillby's (Part 1: Tipsy-Turvey)

 

The beginning of this chapter is inspired by this picture: [Drunk Bun](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CVEpGGxVAAAsPWJ.png)

Your Perspective

 

           “Grillby’s, huh?” you ask, staring up at the prominent sign that adorns Snowdin’s signature hole-in-the-wall. You’d passed by it countless times on the way to Sans’ house, but you’d never actually gone inside.

           “Yup,” Sans’ says. “Best bar in all the Underground.”

           Sans’ pulls the door open for you, a bashful grin on his face.

           “After you,” he says sheepishly.

           “Wow Sans,” you say teasingly. “You’re such a gentleman.”

           “Heh. I try.”

           The two of you step into the room, the door swinging shut behind you. Warmth instantaneously rushes over you, and you can’t help but sigh, reveling in it. You’re slowly starting to get used to the cold that inevitably comes with your Snowdin trips, but that doesn’t mean you like it. Once you’ve warmed up, you take a moment to look around, taking the place in.

           The first thing that you notice is that there aren’t any windows. Instead, lanterns are strategically placed along the walls, their soft glow bathing the single room in a warm red-orange light. It’s almost striking how small Grillby’s is, but somehow, that works to its advantage. There’s not much seating—only one or two booths to one side of the room, and a few tables on the other—but every single seat is filled, and the animated voices and laughter of the bar’s inhabitance reverberates cheerfully throughout the compact space. The mouth-watering smell of greasy food wafts through the air, and judging from the thin layer of grime on the hard-wood floor, it’s been served here for many, many years.

           The dim lighting, the laughter, the smells, _everything_ … it’s almost nostalgic for you. You have the vaguest memories of visiting a pub like this with your parents when you were little, and the happy memories associated with it bring a dreamy smile to your face. There’s a word to describe places like these. What was it again…?

_Homey._

           Sans chuckles at your expression of euphoria and leads you further in, heading towards the bar that lines the back wall.

           “Hey, Sans!”

           “Hi, Sans!”

           “Back already, Sans?”

_Wow… I didn’t know he was so popular_.

           Every time he passes a table, the monsters that occupy it tear themselves from whatever it is they’re doing (eating, playing cards, smoking… dog treats?) and send a friendly greeting in his direction. Sans seems almost immune to the attention, as if this is an everyday thing for him. He barely spares the time to wave at them. Well, with one exception.

           “Hey, Sansy~”

_S-Sansy??!!_

           Sans flinches at the sound of the speaker’s voice, and turns to look at a table near the entrance. A rather drunk looking, pale-peach rabbit girl has fixed Sans with a lop-sided grin, and beckons to him with a finger. The sight of it rubs you the wrong way for some reason.

           “Oh… uh, hey Bun-Bun,” Sans mutters, a cringe-worthy grimace on his face.

_Wha—Bun-Bun?! Please tell me that’s not a nickname…_

           “You look a little _bonely_ , Sansy~” she purrs, beckoning again. “C’mon over here—I’ll buy you a *hic* drink.”

           You don’t even register the fact that the statement was a pun. You’re too miffed.

_Lonely?! I’m standing right here!_

           An unidentifiable feeling starts to burn in the pit of your stomach, and you find your hands balling themselves into fists.

           “Sorry, but I—”

           “Oh Sansy, don’t be mean~” she slurs. The rabbit smirks at him and gets up, staggering drunkenly over to him. She completely disregards you presence and throws an arm around his shoulders, leaning in close.

           “I already said—”

           “Aww… *hic* c’mon, sexy bones,” she whines. She lazily draws a finger along the line of Sans’ mandible, making him shudder involuntarily. “You won’t regret it~”

           You go rigid, you teeth clenching as you watch this… this _bunny_ putting her paws all over _your_ skeleton. Before you can think about what you’re about to do, you take a slow step towards the her, one fist readying itself to find a new home in the offending rabbit’s furry face.

           “Leave the poor guy alone, Bun-Bun,” one of the patrons calls.

           “Yeah—he’s obviously here with someone,” another monster calls, gesturing towards you.

           “And besides,” calls a duck-looking monster, “I thought you were going after Grillby. Whatever happened to _that_ little fling?”

           “What, _Grillbaby_?”  

           The rabbit disengages herself from Sans (much to his relief), and staggers across the room towards that last speaker. She sways dizzily as she stands in front of him, and jabs him in the chest with an accusatory finger.

           “Don’t you remember, feather face? He was *hic* too _hot_ for me to handle.”

           The whole room bursts into laughter, which causes the rabbit to spin around triumphantly, raising her hands in the air.

           “Thank you, ladies and gentleman~” she drawls, her body swaying in a lazy figure-eight pattern. “I’ll *hic* be here… be here all…”

           The rabbit promptly passes out, and falls unceremoniously to floor. Howls of laughter bounce off of the walls, making the pub sound more like a madhouse than a restaurant. The tension that had been gathering in you slowly starts to abate, and you find yourself laughing with them. The rabbit had just been really drunk, that’s all. There was no reason for you to be jealous. 

_Wait… jealous?_ you ask yourself. Your laughter catches in your throat, and one of your hands makes its way to your chest as you try and dissect your previous behavior. _Why… why would I be jealous? I… do I…_

           “Don’t worry, I’ve got her,” the duck says. His words snap you out of your thoughts, and you gently shake your head to try and clear it.

_No, I’m just imagining things._

           The duck hops off of his stool and roughly slings the rabbit over his shoulder, before waddling past you and out the front door. The buzz that’d filled the room with the girl’s collapse slowly dies down, and the other patrons go back to whatever it is they were doing.

           “So, uh… that happened,” Sans says. He rubs the back of his spine (neck) self-consciously, and there’s an ever-so-faint tinge of blue to his cheekbones. The sight of him flustered after that bunny practically _molested_ him makes that strange feeling (that definitely _isn’t_ jealousy!) start to make itself known again.

_I’m overreacting,_ you tell yourself firmly. _That was nothing. She barely touched him, and she wasn’t in her right mind. And besides, it’s not as if he asked for it to happen. I’m sure he didn’t like it. There isn’t anything between them. There can’t be. Definitely not._

           “Hey, buttercup… you okay?” Sans asks, looking you over with a questioning look in his eyesockets. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you scowl like that before.”

           “Who was that?!” you blurt. You instantly regret it, and you can feel your face beginning to turn red. “U-uh… I mean… I’m fine. Yeah.”

           “Who, Bun-Bun?” Sans clarifies. “She—”

           “She’s the town drunk,” another monster says, cutting into your conversation. “And she’s absolutely nuts.”

           “Yup,” another monster agrees. “That girl will flirt with anything that moves, and poor Sans here usually gets the worst of it.”

           “Ooh, I remember this one time where Drunk-Bun actually—”

           “I-I think she gets the idea, fellas,” Sans says quickly, cutting them off. His face has made the rounds from light to royal blue, and his blush is only continuing to deepen.

           “Wait, I think I actually want to hear this,” you say, smiling at Sans’ embarrassment.

           “So Drunk-Bun gets hammered, right? That’s normal,” the monster continues. “But then Sans comes in, and some wise guy decided that it would be a good idea to—”

           “Nope. Nuh-uh. I’m not gonna listen to this.”

           Sans takes you by the wrist and hurriedly leads you away, much to the amusement of the two monsters. Under other circumstances, their guffaws may have elicited some kind of response from you. At the moment, however, you’re too busy trying to conceal the blush that’s starting to creep across your cheeks. Sans is practically holding your hand.

_That doesn’t mean anything,_ you tell yourself. _I… I’m overthinking it. Darn it, why am I blushing?!_

           Sans only lets go of your wrist when the two of you reach the bar at the back. You bite your lip, trying to quell the sudden pang of disappointment that pulses through you.

_What’s_ wrong _with me?_

           You take a deep breath in an attempt to calm your whirlwind of emotions, and sink onto one of the barstools. You definitely have a lot to think about, but this isn’t the time for it. You can mull everything over once you’re on your own, and Sans isn’t there to comment on your weird behavior.

           “So, uh… where’s the bartender?” you ask, trying your best to return to a somewhat normal topic of conversation. Sans takes a seat on the stool next to you, and glances down the length of the bar. 

           “He’s probably in the kitchen,” he says. “Maybe I should—”

           “Don’t worry Sans, I’ve got it,” a less-than-attractive fish monster on the opposite end of the bar calls. “Yo, Grillby! You’ve got customers.”

           “Hey Sans,” you mutter, leaning in so you’re not overheard by the fish monster, “people around here sure like to ease-drop, don’t they?”

           “Heh. They sure do,” he agrees. “But don’t worry—it’s just ‘cause you’re new. Give it a few minutes, and they’ll go back to acting as if you don’t even exist.”

           “That’s true,” the fish monster says sagely. “Grillby’s is mostly made up of regulars—we don’t get many newcomers, so you’re a novelty.”

           “Oh. I see,” you say.

           From the corner of your eye, you see a figure emerge from the back room. They’re unusually bright, and when you focus your attention on them, you realize why. The man is completely made of fire.

_Wait… fire??!!_

           You turn to Sans, your eyes wide in shock. You try to say something, but it seems your voice isn’t working very well.

           “What, not what you were expecting?” he asks, smiling at your speechlessness. “You’re still not entirely used to magic, are you?”

           “Hey, Grillbz!” Sans calls, waving the fire-man over. “Can we get some service over here?”

           The man raises a finger, as if telling Sans to wait a second. The light of his body reflects off of the immaculately polished bar top as he walks along it, and he pauses when he reaches the fish monster. They seem to be talking, but this “Grillby” seems to be so soft spoken that you can’t tell what’s being said.

           You know it’s rude to stare, but can’t tear your eyes away from him. Your mind is moving a mile a minute, trying to piece together how physics could possibly support his existence.

_How does he keep his shape? What’s fueling him?_ you wonder. _Is it magic? And how is he not burning anything up right now?_

           The man’s very being contains a lot of dizzying contradictions—even more so than Sans. His immaculate bartender vest-uniform thingy, for example, is somehow completely unaffected by his flames.   

_What, are his clothes flame-retardant or something?_ you ask yourself. _Actually, it’s a miracle that the floor itself isn’t combusting_. _And what about his glasses—shouldn’t they be melting? Wait… why does he need glasses in the first place? He doesn’t even have_ eyes! _Or… I don’t think so, anyway. It’s kind of hard to tell._

           Grillby, finishing his conversation with the fish monster, continues his journey along the bar until he stands directly in front of you. He seems to be as interested in you as you are in him—he cocks his head slightly as he looks at you, one hand resting thoughtfully on his chin. (And yes, he _is_ staring at you. Now that he’s closer to you, you can see that the fire behind his glasses is more of a yellow color, and seem to work in the place of eyes. Somehow.)

           The two of you stare at each other for nearly a minute, silently drinking in each others’ presence. It might just be your imagination, but you think his flames have taken on a slightly more pinkish hue during that time, and they seem to be making a slightly louder crackling sound than they had before.

           “Hey, uh… Grillbz?”

           “Oh, hello, Sans,” Grillby says quietly, switching his attention over to Sans. “My apologies—it seems my focus lapsed for a moment.”

           Just as you’d thought, he’s very soft-spoken. His voice is smooth and melodic, and his overall tone is very formal. Seeing him talk to Sans, you can’t help but take notice of how different the two of them are. Sans, with his ultra-casual wear and somewhat rough language, seems very out of place next to Grillby, with his articulate speech and ironed dress.

           “No problem, Grillbz,” Sans says. “What’s up?”

           “Sans, you were here just a few minutes ago,” Grillby says, raising a fire-eyebrow. “It is very unlikely that anything of interest would have happened in that time.”

           “I’ve gotta disagree with you there, Grillbz,” Sans says, sending a knowing look in your direction. “A lot can happen in a half-hour.”

           “Well, I suppose I will take your word for it,” Grillby says, sighing quietly.

           He glances in your direction, that strange pink tinge entering his flames again. Then he blinks and fiddles with his glasses, pushing them further up some non-existent nose. 

           “So, Sans… who is this friend you brought with you?”

           “Oh, I completely forgot to introduce the two of you, didn’t I?” Sans says. He gestures to you, and then to Grillby, in turn. “Grillby, meet (Y/N). (Y/N), Grillby.”

           “Ah. So _she_ is the elder human that you have been telling me about?”

_…Sans talks about me?_ For some reason, the idea of Sans telling his friends about you makes you really happy.

           “Yup,” Sans confirms, smiling at you. “She’s the one.”

           “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Grillby says. He holds out a flaming hand for you to shake.

           “It’s nice to meet you too…” you say uncertainly, glancing at the hand he’d offered. You’ve tried touching fire before—you’re pretty sure every kid has at least once—and needless to say, it didn’t end very well.

           “Do not worry, I do not bite,” Grillby says, a hint of a laugh to his voice.

           “Uh… you’re made of fire,” you say flatly, stating the obvious.

           “I do not burn, either,” he adds, chuckling. “Trust me.”

           “Well… okay then.”

           You hesitantly clasp his hand in yours. It’s one of the strangest sensations you’ve ever felt. You don’t go through him, like you would have expected, and being in contact with his flames doesn’t hurt, either. The best way to describe it is to say that his fire is like a really powerful desert wind—it keeps your hand in place by blowing it back, and it’s just hot enough that you don’t want to touch it for too long. The individual flames tickle as they dance across your skin, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing.

           Grillby smiles warmly at you, and you think you pick up on a thoughtful look in his eyes. You’re about to take your hand away when he adjusts his grip, and then raises your hand to the place his lips would be. You go completely still, and even though you want to pull away, you don’t—your mind has completely flat-lined from the shock of the gesture. Grillby’s body is slowly changing colors, and by the time he releases you, he’s glowing a soft petal pink. Your face is probably doing something similar.

           “U-uh…” you stammer. “Um…”

           If it were physically possible, steam would be coming out of your ears right around now. That was the closest thing to a kiss you’ve ever been subject to—there aren’t exactly any boys on Mt. Ebott.

           “Woah! Guys, did you see that?!” the fish monster exclaims. He’s pointing at you and Grillby with one mustard-brown fin, and he’s practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “Grillbz actually made a move for once! Wow… this is better than a soap opera!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Before I get started with anything else, I want to apologize for the cliff hanger. This is actually only half (or maybe even less than half), of the original chapter. It was taking me a long time to write it, so I decided to split it in two and give you an update on time. There is good news, though! That means the next update should come sooner than usual, since I'm already working on it. Oh, and it's going to be a big one.


	17. Grillby's (Part 2): Uncertainties

Sans' Perspective

 

            “Woah! Guys, did you see that?! Grillbz actually made a move for once! Wow… this is better than a soap opera!”

            Oh, I saw alright—and I’m not a very happy skeleton.

            Now, Grillbz’s a great guy. If I were to ever call someone my best friend, he would be my first and only choice. As such, I know him real well—even more than he realizes, after so many resets—and I know he’s not the kind of guy to do something so forward. So if he’s doing something like this… if he’s turning into a blushing mess over after a girl he’s just met… he’s gotta be serious. And that’s _really_ bad news.  

            I look over at (Y/N), and just the sight of her is enough to make my soul go nuts. It pounds against my ribcage like a sledgehammer, as if it’s trying to force its way out. (Y/N) is matching Grillby’s blush shade for shade, and she’s got an adorably flustered expression on her face. However, seeing as that expression is aimed at Grillby, and not at me…

            I tap the bar top with a skeletal finger, hoping the action will give me an outlet for my growing irritation. It’s not working very well.

            This week-and-some that I’ve spent with (Y/N) has been the best that I’ve seen in a long, long time. Every time I’m with her, the burden of my bad memoires lift just a little bit from my shoulders, and the void in my soul gets just a little bit smaller.

            When I came home to find (Y/N) limp on my couch, her body cold and her soul shattering… it had felt as if the world itself were ending. As though it were _my_ soul—not hers—that was breaking. Right then, at that moment, I had actually _wished_ for a reset to happen; something I haven’t done since the first time Chara stole Papyrus from me. I don’t know when I started caring about her so much, but now that I do…

            I can’t lose her. Not to death, and not to Grillby.

            My teeth start to hurt as my permanent smile manages to stretch a few inches, and I’m pretty sure my eyesockets have long since gone dark. I’ve gotta do something, before this goes any further.

            “Hey, Grillbz,” I say, forcing a cheerful tone into my voice. “Buddy. Pal.”

            Grillby manages to rip his eyes away from (Y/N) to look at me, a questioning look to his constantly shifting face. He blinks in surprise when he sees my expression, and takes a half-step backwards. I place a protective hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder, making my position as clear as possible without arousing her suspicion. Luckily for me, Grillbz is a master of silent communication, and my unspoken message easily gets across.

            _Back off._

Grillby seems a little bit crestfallen, but he does a good job of hiding it. He’s slowly returning to his normal coloration, and he’s quick to recover his composure.

“Oh… it seems I may have made a mistake, (Y/N),” Grillby says smoothly, adjusting his glasses to hide his embarrassment. “I had read somewhere that human social guidelines called for that sort of conduct, but that does not seem to be the case. Forgive me.”

            _Y’know… I wish I could lie that well._            

            If those pink flames of his were anything to go by, he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Nevertheless, I’m grateful that he gave in so easily. I’ll have to find a way to make it up to him—maybe I can finally get around to paying my tab.

“O-oh, uh… that’s okay,” (Y/N) stammers.

            She rubs one of her arms self-consciously, and seems to be trying hard to brush the encounter off. Or, maybe I read her wrong—her blush is still going strong despite Grillby’s withdrawal, and it doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of fading.

“Hey, uh, Sans? Is there a… uh… reason you’re so close to me, or…?”

            At her words, I suddenly realize that I’m invading her personal space. The side of my skull is brushing against her hair, and my arm is sandwiched between us. I’m not even sure how it happened—as far as I know, I’d only put my hand on her shoulder. It takes me a few seconds to take all of this in, which is more than enough time for my forehead to break out in a nervous sweat. 

            “Heh, I, uh… whoops,” I mumble, quickly jerking back to my original position. My soul is beating wildly in my chest, and I’m forced to look away from her as my cheekbones start to flush again. (How many times does that make it today? Like, five? More?)

            _Geez, she’s practically magnetic._

Grillby is watching me carefully, and I’m pretty sure I detect a hint of a smirk in that grin he’s fixing me with.

            _‘Well, at least I_ did _something about my feelings for her,’_ I imagine him saying. _‘How long are you going to beat around the bush, Sans? You should tell her what you think of her.’_

I groan softly and put a hand over my eyes, trying to drive that thought away. It stubbornly refuses.

            _There’s no way I can tell her,_ I remind myself. _She probably doesn’t think of me that way. And even if she did… I can’t_ afford _to like her. Until this whole reset thing gets worked out, it’ll just end up hurting me. God knows I’m enough of a mess already—_

            “So, are you going to order something, or did you call me over purely for the conversational value?” Grillby asks, interrupting my train of thought. He removes a notepad from his vest’s breast pocket, pen at the ready.

            “I’ll take my usual,” I say, grateful for the distraction.

            “Would you like the Sans’ Special, or just the regular?”

            “Just the regular.”

            “Well, that is certainly unexpected,” Grillby notes, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

            “Oh, no reason.”

            Grillby almost seems confused. When he catches me glancing at (Y/N), though, understanding dawns in his eyes. He chuckles quietly as he writes my order down.

            “I see,” he says sagely. Never before have two simple words made me so utterly embarrassed.

            “And what can I get you, (Y/N)?”

            “Uh… that depends. I can’t find a menu anywhere,” she says, looking fruitlessly up and down the bar.

            “Basically, you’ve got two options: burgers or fries,” I tell her.

            “…Really? That’s it?” she asks, looking at me skeptically. “That’s a pretty short menu.”

            “That is the abridged version,” Grillby says. “Those are my two most popular items. If you would rather see the full menu…”

            Grillby reaches for something underneath the counter, pulling out a very thick scroll-like piece of paper.

            “U-uh…” (Y/N) stammers.

            Grillby holds it level with his glasses, and shoots me a mischievous smile before letting the menu unfurl. (Y/N) watches in fascination as the paper drops below the bar, and then rolls along the floor for several feet. By the time it’s done, it’s as long as the bar itself. (Y/N)’s expression is priceless—I have to try really hard to fight back laughter, and even then, I still manage to snort.

_Good one, Grillbz._

            “Wow. That’s… a really long menu,” she notes, sounding slightly intimidated. “You know what? I’ll just take a burger.” 

Grillby skillfully rerolls the menu and stores it back underneath the bar. Then he scribbles her order down in his notepad (as if he needs it to remember such a simple order),             and looks back up at her.

            “Excellent choice,” he says. “Would you like anything to drink with that?”

            “Just water is fine,” she says.

            “Oh dear. That might be a little… problematic,” Grillby mutters.

            “What? Why?” she asks.

            “Grillbz can’t touch the stuff,” I answer for him. “’Cause, y’know… he’s made of fire.”

            “…Oh,” she says awkwardly. “Well, uh… that makes sense, I guess. ...Wait a minute.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes slowly make their way along the back wall, which is lined with Grillby’s entire selection of alcohol. Her brow furrows adorably, and her lips purse as she tries to organize her thoughts.

            “So, you can’t touch water,” she says, “but you don’t have any problems with alcohol? I mean, you _do_ realize that it’s extremely flammable, right?”

            “…”

            Grillby lapses into silence, his pen still poised over his notebook. Then he slowly turns to look behind him, regarding the assembled bottles with a newly acquired wariness.

            “I… did not know that,” he says. “I suppose I will have to be more cautious from now on. It would be a shame if I happened to light my establishment on fire.”

            “You mean it’s never happened before?” (Y/N) asks, incredulous. “Okay, I’ll bite—I’ve got to know. How is it you aren’t burning anything?!”

            “It took many years of practice,” Grillby says, turning back to face her, “and quite a few unfortunate accidents. I assure you, though; I can be quite… formidable… when I want to be.”

            I get the feeling that last comment was aimed at me. Grillby gives me a pointed look and leans in towards (Y/N). My magic automatically forces its way to my left eye at his proximity to her, and I have to use all my restraint not to summon one of Gaster Blasters. Grillby smirks at my reaction and stops short, his flaming face just inches away from hers.

            Instead of kissing her—which is what I’d automatically assumed he was going to do—he starts tracing a shape in the air between them. I have no idea what he’s tryin’ to do. (Y/N) seems just as baffled. When Grillbz’s done with whatever it was he was drawing, he leans back, and theatrically snaps his fingers. Flames spring to life in the places he’d ‘touched,’ bringing his drawing alive in dancing tones of orange and red.

_That bastard._

            It’s a heart. Of all the things he could draw, he chose a heart. Apparently, he’s not gonna give up as easily as I had originally thought. That, or he’s doin’ this just to get a rise out of me. If that’s the case, then he’s doing a good job of it. If (Y/N) weren’t here, I’d have a long string of choice words for him.  

            (Y/N) stares at the flames with awe, fascination written all over her face. Even as the flames fade away, she continues to study the air in front of her. When she finally comes back to reality, her smile is almost as bright as the flames had been.

            “Wow! Grillby, that was so cool!” she exclaims. Grillby adopts a self-satisfied smile at her praise. “Sans, you’ve got some really cool friends, you know that?”

            “Yeah, he’s _real_ cool,” I mutter, giving Grillbz the stink eye. “Or should I say _cold_?”

_Cold-hearted, that is._

            “Actually,” Grillby says nonchalantly, crossing his arms and staring down at me over top of his glasses. “I prefer to think of myself as _hot_.”

_Wow. So_ this _is what it’s like to be stabbed in the back._

            “Pfft—that’s such an overused pun. I’ve already heard it today,” (Y/N) says, smiling good-naturedly. “Let me guess—you got that one from Sans.”

            “That is correct. He is quite the comedian.”

            “Yeah, he sure is… uh, quick question. Do you have a restroom in here, by any chance?”

            “A restroom? Yes, of course. Just go through that door there, and you will find it on the right hand side.”

            “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

            (Y/N) gets up and scurries away, vanishing through the door that Grillby had pointed out. The air grows exponentially heavier in her absence, until it’s almost stifling. I grit my teeth and stare at the wall, trying to contain the anger that’s bubbling in me. Somewhere in the bar, a second hand is making its way around a clock. I start counting along to its pace, trying to distract myself. It ticks once… then twice…

            “Sans,” Grillby says. “I—”

            The sound of that traitor’s voice instantly sends me over the edge, my magic lighting in response to my sudden wave of anger. I stand on the rim of my stool and plant a hand on the bar, using the other to grab Grillby by that gaudy bow-tie of his. I pull him towards me until our faces are practically touching and look him right in the eye, the blue light of my magic reflecting off of his glasses.

            “Are we going to have a problem, _buddy_?”

            Grillby calmly returns my stare, completely unperturbed by my glowing eye and the rage associated with it.

            “No,” he says simply. “There is no problem… unless you make one.”

            “What,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “you thought I was just gonna sit there and—”

            “It is obvious to me how much you care about (Y/N),” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken, slowly loosening his bowtie. “You are practically infatuated with her. I am not trying to take her from you, if that is what you think. I may find her attractive, but I—”

            “Then _what the hell_ was all that about?!” I exclaim angrily, my arm trembling as I lift him a few inches.

            Grillby sighs, almost as if he’s disappointed in me. He completely undoes his bow tie, easily slipping out of my grasp. When he has his feet on the ground again, he takes out a rag from beneath the bar and starts to run it along the counter top, even though it’s already perfectly polished. He’s calm and collected, as always… and it makes me want to bash him against a wall.

            I call magic to my fingertips and rip his yellow-orange soul clean out of him, ribbons of magic wrapping around it until it practically looks like it’s turned blue. Grillby doesn’t so much as blink. I lift my outstretched hand, itching to throw him across the room.

             “Sans, how long have you been a patron at my bar?” he asks quietly. The question catches me off guard, and I hesitate in my attack, my arm frozen in its place.

            “I… what?”

            “Let me put it another way. How long have we been friends?”

            Guilt is slowly worming its way into me, and my magic flickers in response to my growing uncertainty.

            “I… I dunno. Two or three years, give or take?” I mumble.  

            “That is correct,” he affirms. “And after all of that time, do you really believe that I would do anything to harm you? Either physically, or—perhaps with more relevance to our current situation— _emotionally_?”

            My magic completely fades away as a flood of shame washes over me, and my arm drops limply to my side. 

 

            “…No,” I mutter. “No… you wouldn’t.”

            I sigh and collapse back onto my stool, my skull in my hands.

_I… I actually attacked him. My best friend._

            “Sorry, Grillbz,” I mutter. “I just… she means a lot to me, y’know?”

            “Yes,” he says, a hint of a chuckle to his voice. “I realize. It would be impossible not to, after all of that.”

            “But… I don’t get it,” I mutter. “Why did you…?”

            Grillby recalls his soul, and then reaches under the bar and pulls out a slightly dirty cup. He polishes it as he talks.

            “I will admit, my intentions were genuine at first,” he starts. “I can see the merit in (Y/N). But you are my friend, Sans, and I would not betray your trust.”

            “Stop bein’ so vague about it, and just tell me what you’re trying to accomplish,” I sigh, propping my skull up with one hand. “You’ve always got a reason for what you do—what is it this time?”

            Grillby sets the now-spotless glass down on the counter with a soft clink, and looks me in the eye with an uncomfortable level of seriousness.

            “I was trying to get you to ACT, Sans.”

            “…What?”

            “It is obvious that you like her. However, no matter what I did… you were unwilling to show that to her. Me, yes, but her… I was trying to get you to _do_ something, Sans—to show her that you care for her.”

            “That’s not your call, Grillbz,” I murmur tiredly. “I’ll tell her, but only when I’m ready.”

            “And when will that be, Sans?” Grillby presses.

            “I…” My gaze drops away from his as I trail off, and I resort to studying my reflection on the bar top. He’s got me—I don’t have an answer for him.

            “That is what I thought,” he says softly. When he notices my downcast expression, he sighs and leaves his post behind the bar, circling around it to take a seat beside me. “Sans, I have known you for a long time now, and I know that you are not the kind of person to take initiative—”

            “Heh. Yeah, I _am_ pretty lazy,” I say, using the old standby to try and lighten the mood a little.

            “You and I both know that it is not _just_ laziness,” Grillby says firmly, unwilling to let me slip off-topic. “In this matter and others, you are simply too afraid of failure to take decisive action—I have seen it time and time again. You do not like to show your hand until you are absolutely positive that the cards are in your favor… and while I admit that strategy will keep you from making a bad bet, it also means that you will be sitting at that same table, immobilized, for as long as your uncertainties remain unresolved.”

            “Grillby…”

            “You know that I am right,” he says gently, “and I am sure you understand where I am going with this. (Y/N) seems to make you happy, when there is not much in this world that can. But if you do not do something soon… well, it is just as you yourself said—a lot can happen in the space of half an hour.”

            I cringe at his statement, the image of (Y/N)’s broken soul returning unbidden to my mind. That’s right. A lot can happen in half an hour. If she had died then, I would’ve had to live the rest of my life knowing that I’d made a terrible mistake—that I’d never told her that I loved her.

            _But if everything resets again... losing her would… I’d... I’m already too close to her as it is._

“Grillby… you don’t understand,” I sigh, putting a hand over my eyesockets. “Under the circumstances, I… I _can’t_ tell her.”

            “You are right,” he says sadly. “I do _not_ understand.”

            “I have seen your apathy, yet I do not understand why you always treat each day as if it were a burden to you.”

            “I have seen you intoxicated countless times, yet I do not understand what causes your desire to get yourself drunk.”

            “And I have seen how you refuse the help that is offered to you—even that of your own brother—and yet I can never understand why you push others away.”

            A rare spark of anger enters his voice, and his hands, which had been pressed flat against the granite of the bar top, curl themselves into fists.

            “I do not understand…” he growls, “not because I do not wish to, but because you always refuse to explain it to me!”

            Well, I’ve succeeded in getting him to lose his cool… but not in the way I wanted. I sink lower on my stool as guilt begins to gnaw at me, my mandibles resting on crossed arms. Grillby breaths shakily and looks away, taking a moment to collect himself before he continues.

            “Look, Sans… I only want to see you happy,” he says softly. “But no one—not even (Y/N)—can make you happy if you are unwilling to _let_ yourself be happy.”

            I don’t answer. Grillby sighs and gives in, the light cast by his flames shifting as he moves to get up.

            “Well…” he says slowly. “I… I suppose I should go get your orders ready. But please… think about what I said, Sans. You of all people deserve to be happy.”

            He hesitates for a few moments to put his bowtie back on, giving me time to change my mind and say something to him. However, stubborn as I am, I continue to avoid his gaze, instead opting to look into the reflection of my own sad, empty eyesockets. Grillby shakes his head sadly and then turns away, retreating back into the kitchen.

 

***

 

            “Hey, I’m back!” (Y/N) calls cheerfully.

            At the sound of her voice, I jerk upright and plaster my usual smile on my face. I doubt it’ll do much to hide my depression—it’s uncanny how well she can read me sometimes—but I’ve gotta at least try. I don’t like her seeing me like this.

            “Hey, Buttercup,” I say, trying to match her carefree tone.

            “You know, this place is a lot bigger than it looks,” she informs me, taking a seat on the stool that Grillby had just left. “I actually got lost for a while back there—it’s practically a maze. But anyway, what did I miss? Where’s Grillby…?”

            She trails off, apparently noticing the strained face I made when she mentioned Grillby.   

            “Sans?” she asks softly. “Did something happen?”

            “What?” I ask, putting in a lot of effort to make my voice steady. “Pfft—no. Why would anything happen? Of course nothin’ happened. Heh heh.”

            She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

            “Your eyesockets are dark,” she points out.

            “Oh… they are?” I ask, feigning ignorance. “Heh. Weird; I didn’t notice.”

            “Sans…”

            “I’m fine, really.”

            The look she’s giving me right now… man, she really knows how to pull at my heartstrings. Her eyes are practically pools of sympathy, and just the sight of them is enough to guilt-trip me harder than Grillby’s entire speech had.  

            “Sans, I can tell something’s wrong,” she says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Stop trying to pretend that it’s not.”

            “Heh. See, this is why it sucks to be a skeleton,” I say quietly, my gaze dropping away from hers. “You can see right through me.”

            “Sans, you can talk to me about anything, remember?” she reminds me. “Just tell me about it—I’m sure it’ll make you feel better.”

            I take a deep shaky breath, trying to gather my thoughts. I’m gonna have to tell her eventually. It’ll kill me if I don’t. Even know—when we’re sitting so close to each other that our knees are practically touching—I have this insatiable _need_ to be closer to her.

            I want to hold her in my arms, close enough that I can feel her heart beating as if it were my own. I want to feel the touch of her skin again, so soft against my cheekbones. I want to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, to make her promises that I could only dream of keeping. I… I want _her_. I love her—everything about her—and it’s killing me that I’m so close to her, yet so far away.

_I… I’ll have to tell her at some point._ I think. _Let’s just get it over with._

            Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to keep my hands from trembling. I turn towards her and stare deep into her eyes, my soul pulsating so quickly I’m afraid it’ll shatter.

            “(Y-Y/N),” I stammer. That sounded really pathetic, even by my standards. I swallow hard, and try again. “(Y/N), I want you to know that I… I…”

            I’m shaking so hard that my bones are starting to rattle, and the words die on my tongue. I can’t do it. I just… I just can’t do it. I’m not ready. There’s too much at risk.

_‘In this matter and others, you are simply too afraid of failure to take decisive action.’_

            As I recall Grillby’s annoyingly true words, I groan and drop my skull onto my crossed arms, hiding my profusely blushing face. It’s just three words, and yet…

            “…Sans?” (Y/N) asks uncertainly.

            “Nothing,” I mutter, my voice muffled by my jacket. “Forget it.”

            Even though I can’t see her face, I can practically _feel_ her worry. 

            “Is this about earlier?” she asks. “I mean… last timeline?”

            It’s a good guess, even if it’s wrong—I’m still plenty upset over that, too. Deciding that talking about Flowey would be marginally better than confessing my feelings, I raise my head just enough that I can see, and nod.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. “I mean, a lot’s happened that I don’t really understand, and I was hoping you could shed some light on everything… but if you’d rather not talk about it…”

            “No, I wanna know what happened,” I say, my bones creaking as I sit up. “What did that… that _weed_ … want from you?”

            “Well, it’s probably easier if I start explaining from last night. Frisk woke me up, saying that she had ‘lost something…’”

           

**(Discussion Skip)**

           

            “...and then this weird grey monster somehow restored my memory. They said something to me, but I couldn’t understand it, and it disappeared before I could talk to it. You showed up not too long after,” she explains.

            I sit in silence for a few seconds, struggling to absorb everything she’d just told me.

_Frisk can’t reset anymore… and only (Y/N) can._

            And since she knows all about the resets, and knows that it’s better not to use that power… My eyesockets widen as the meaning behind that transfer starts to register, and my smile is so wide that my cheekbones hurt.

            “(Y/N)... do you know what this means?”

            “I… think so?”

            “It’s over,” I say dazedly. “The resets… they’re finally over.”

            “Yeah,” (Y/N) agrees, her smile almost as wide as mine. “I guess so.”

            No more resets. It almost feels unreal—never again will I have to man my sentry station, waiting for Frisk to leave the ruins. Never again will I have to encounter Chara. I won’t have to watch Paps die anymore. The Underground is at peace, and it’s going to stay that way. The cycle… it’s finally broken. I can finally move on with my life.

            “That’s the best news I’ve had in a long time,” I say, practically drunk with happiness. “I could _kiss_ you right now, Buttercup.”

            (Y/N) goes completely still, her (e/c) eyes widening. She blinks rapidly and looks away, her face turning so red she almost looks like a tomato.

            _Huh? Why is she… oh._

“N-not that I _wanna_ kiss you or anything,” I babble, my words tumbling over one another in my race to correct myself. “I just meant—it’s a figure of speech, y’know? Oh! But I don’t mean that I _don’t_ want to kiss you—I’m sure you’re really kissable. Actually, those lips of yours look really soft, so, it’s not that I’m _against_ kissing you… wait! Forget I said that. Uh… I just… y’know… we’re just friends. Heh. Yeah.”

            (Y/N) snorts, covering her mouth with a hand. She seems to be trying hard not to—her eyes are watering with the effort—but she ends up laughing anyway, that beautifully breathless laugh of hers bouncing off of the room’s stone walls. Matters get even worse when the other guys join in on the fun. Apparently, everyone else in the bar had been listening in, and they make no secret of it as they completely crack up, their howls of laughter making the very air reverberate.

            I’m pretty sure it’d be hard to tell me and Grillby apart right now—my face is so hot it might as well be on fire. I pull the hood of my jacket up and go back to resting my skull on the bar, completely mortified. It had been bad enough having Bun-Bun get all clingy earlier. And now, to top it off, all this happened. I’m seriously regretting bringing (Y/N) here.

            “Sans,” she gasps, still fighting back laughter. “That was—that was—oh my god, Sans. That was adorable.”

            “Oh, shut up,” I mutter, my voice once again muffled by my hood.

“Hey,” she says softly, lightly bumping an arm against one of mine. “I get it—you didn’t mean it like that.”

            _…I kinda did, though._

“C’mon, get out of there,” she says, gently tugging at my hood. “I’m sorry I laughed. Just come out. Please?”

            “Can’t,” I mutter cheekily, smiling a little to myself. I may be embarrassed, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t like the attention (Y/N)’s giving me. “Too lazy.”

            I don’t make any move to put my hood down, but I don’t protest when she does it for me. She giggles at my still-blue face, and flicks me lightly between the eyesockets. I flinch backwards in surprise, my hand flying to the spot she’d touched.

            “What’d you do that for?” I ask, bewildered.

“I wanted to get the turtle out of his shell,” she says, grinning slyly at me. “And it worked.”

            “Well, this turtle isn’t just gonna let you get away with it,” I growl playfully, narrowing my eyesockets at her. I reach over and quickly ruffle her hair, pulling back before she can slap my hand away.

            “Hey!” she exclaims, fake-scowling at me. “Sans!”

            “Heh,” I chuckle. “Got’cha.”

She tries to keep scowling, but the corners of her mouth are twitching. She gives up and beams at me, rolling her eyes as she starts to smooth her hair back down again.

            It isn’t long before Grillby decides to return, sporting a steaming plate in one hand and a bottle in the other. As he travels along the length of the bar, he catches my eye, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at my rapidly fading blue blush.

            _‘Well?’_ I translate. _‘Did you tell her?’_

I answer his silent question with clenched teeth and a half-turned back. I’m still smoldering over the whole predicament he’s forced on me—why does he have to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong? His flames make a popping sound at my reaction, something that I’ve learned to associate with disappointment over the years. (Almost like a clicking tongue.)

            Beyond that, though, he doesn’t react to my cold shoulder. He continues to play the role of diligent server, placing the steaming plate in front of (Y/N). Well, maybe I’d judged his reaction too soon. Instead of placing my order on the table like a normal person, he _slams_ my customary bottle of ketchup down on the counter top with all of his might, splattering ketchup all over me.  

            “What in the—Grillby!” I exclaim, looking down at myself.

            “Oh, my _deepest_ apologies, Sans,” he growls, an uncharacteristic sarcastic edge to his words. “Allow me to clean that up for you.”

            The flames on one of his hands flare as he reaches towards me, apparently planning to ‘clean’ my hoodie by turning it to ashes.

            “Nope, don’t bother,” I growl, perfectly matching the venom in his tone. “I’ve got it.”

            With a flick of my wrist, my magic pulls the ketchup out of the fabric of my hoodie. I twirl the substance around in the air for a moment, before smirking at Grillby and letting my magic fade away, ketchup splattering all over his previously sparkling quartz bartop. He doesn’t say anything, but his flames are slowly shifting to an angry red color.

            “U-uh…” (Y/N) stammers, looking back and forth between the two of us, worry lines appearing on her forehead. “Am I… missing something here?”

            “Ye—”

            “No!” I shout, drowning out Grillby.

            Grillby plants his hands on the bar in frustration, making all of the assembled dishes bounce with the force behind it. What’s left of my ketchup spills all over the counter, contributing to the mess that’d already been created. Grillby’s flames are burning so furiously that they’re starting to curl up over the edges of his clothes, and the ketchup under his hands instantly evaporates, filling the air with the smell of spoiled tomatoes.

            “Stop being so _difficult_ ,” he hisses, swiping off his glasses. His eyes are glowing dangerously bright, a sure sign that he’s preparing an attack.

            “Stop being so damn _nosey_ ,” I retort, my eye flaring up again.

            “This is for your own good!”

            “You don’t get to make that kind of decision!”

            “Stop being so hard headed!” he exclaims, leaning menacingly towards me. “I am trying to help you! Or maybe, since you are so against moving forward, I should look out for my _own_ interests, and see what she thinks of _me_.”

            “You wouldn’t _dare,_ ” I growl, allowing my fingertips to light. “If you so much as _look_ at her funny, I’m gonna—”

            “Quit it!” (Y/N) yells, forcing her way between the two of us. “Both of you!”

            She’s surprisingly strong—she practically shoves me off of my stool, and Grillby staggers backwards and rams into his wall of bottles, making them rattle enough to clink against one another. The sound is all the more noticeable since the pub has gone completely silent, every customer exuding shock. Grillby and I have never so much as argued before, much less get violent with each other.

            “I can’t _believe_ you two!” she exclaims, her eyes flashing in anger. “You’re practically at each other’s throats, and here I thought you were friends! What in the _world_ is going on?!”

            Grillby looks pointedly in my direction, daring me to field the question. I stubbornly refuse to say anything, and glare at him in return.

            “You know… I am starting to wonder why I even care in the first place,” Grillby mutters to himself. He slowly unfolds and replaces his glasses, his flames starting to return to their normal orange color. “You are right—it is not my decision. You may continue being miserable, as that seems to be what you so wish.”

            I grunt incoherently and plop myself back down on my seat, signaling that the conversation is over. So long as he doesn’t say anything too revealing, he can be as grumpy as he wants—what do I care?

            (Y/N) continues to look between us, her confusion plastered all over her face. As the two of us stretch into silence, she sighs in defeat and returns to her own seat, scowling as she starts eating her now-cold hamburger. I want to say something to her, to apologize for all of that… but there’s something about the expression on her face that tells me I should probably let her be. (And I thought _I_ had some scary looks.)

              Grillby silently stalks off, disappearing back into the kitchen. Without anything else to do, I start to absent-mindedly swirl the spilt ketchup with a finger, carefully avoiding Grillby’s handprints. This definitely hadn’t turned out like I’d thought it would.

            I thought that would be the last I see of him, but I’m apparently wrong again. Grillby returns a few minutes later, a washcloth and a fresh bottle of ketchup in hand. I watch him as he cleans up the mess, and then silently places the bottle in front of me.

            “A peace offering,” he explains, seeing my suspicious glance. “I… I admit that I have overstepped my boundaries, and I… I apologize for that.”

            I hesitate for a moment, before sighing heavily and steeling myself to apologize.

            “Me too. I mean... I’m sorry too. And you’re right,” I admit, looking away. “But I just… the timing’s not right. I’m not ready.”

            The two of us stare at each other for a moment, before we both let out a breath in sync. It seems neither of us likes to argue with the other. (Arguing is exhausting, and takes up too much effort for my tastes.) I sneak a glance over at (Y/N), who’s giving the both of us a knowing smile. She says something to herself under her breath, something that I’m not sure I heard right.

            _‘…Bromance?’_ I wonder. _Uh, sure… whatever that is._

I snatch up the bottle and take a much needed swig of ketchup. Honestly, I’m starting to wish I’d taken the Sans’ Special—I really need a stress reliever right around now—but that could get messy with (Y/N) here.

            “Wait,” she says, as if noticing something for the first time. “Is that… ketchup?”

“Heh. Yep,” I say, holding the bottle up for her inspection. “What, you want some?”

            “Um, no thanks,” she says, looking a little weirded out. “I’ve just never seen someone _drink_ ketchup before. Do you really like it that much?”

            “Yep,” I say simply, grinning at her grossed-out expression. “Don’t you?”

            “For fries, yes,” she says. “But just drinking it? That’s a bit much.”

            “To each their own, I guess,” I say, bumping her playfully.

            “Yeah, yeah,” she says, bumping me back. The smile on her face slowly falls away, to be replaced by an expression of surprise. “Oh! I completely forgot! I’ve got something for you.”

            “For both of you,” she tacks on, glancing over at a slightly sullen looking Grillby. He perks up at her words, and shoots her a curious look. She stands up and rummages around in her back pocket, taking out what seem to be a stack of slightly-crushed envelopes. She hands two of them to me, and one of them to Grillby. One of them has my name on it, and the other is for Paps. (Which I find kind of funny, as it’s obviously Pap’s handwriting on it. Why is he writing himself letters?)

            “What’s this?” I ask, turning my envelope over.

            “It’s an invitation to a party that Frisk, Papyrus, and Alphys are putting together,” she explains. “It was originally for me, but it’s also doubling as a birthday party for Frisk.”

            “A birthday, huh?” I ask, carefully working it open. “Now that I think about it, I don’t even know how old she is.”

            “She’s twelve,” (Y/N) says, smiling proudly.

            “Well, I guess that means I’m gonna have to get her a present,” I mutter to myself. “I’m not lookin’ forward to that. I have no idea what the kid even likes…”

            “I’ll help you,” she says. “Maybe we can go shopping together or something. I still have to get her a present, too—all the ones I had lined up are still on the surface.”

            I nod and pull the invitation out of its envelope, wincing as my hand is instantly coated in glitter. I’ve had bad experiences with glitter. Paps uses it in his spaghetti so often that there’s practically a coating of it in our kitchen, and I know from experience that it’s nearly impossible to wash off. I shake the thought away and open the card, quickly scanning what Paps wrote.

            _“YOU ARE INVITED TO A ‘WELCOME TO THE UNDERGROUND’ PARTY FOR OUR GOOD FRIEND, (Y/N). (And Frisk’s twelfth birthday party. Presents are encouraged,)”_ I read. Simple enough. It’s also got instructions on where to meet and when—apparently it’s happening this Friday, and it’s a picnic-type thing in Waterfall. I close the card, and sigh when I notice that Paps left me an extra message on the back.

            _“BROTHER, I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU DON’T LIKE THESE KINDS OF THINGS, BUT YOU MUST SHOW UP. OTHERWISE, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL BE FORCED TO DRAG YOU THERE MYSELF,” _I read. _“AND PLEASE, SHOW UP IN MORE… APPROPRIATE… ATTIRE. (AT LEAST WEAR SHOES FOR ONCE.) OH, AND I ALSO ADVISE KEEPING THE PUNS AT A MINIMUM. I FEEL YOU MAY HAVE A BAD INFLUENCE ON THE HUMANS. NYEHFULLY YOURS, PAPYRUS.”_

            I roll my eyes and haphazardly shove the invitation into one of my jacket pockets. Then I flinch and sigh, remembering how much glitter was on that thing. It’s gonna take forever to get all of it out.

            Grillby waited for me to open mine, and now goes to open his. Once again, a poof of pink glitter accompanies the removal of the envelope, resulting in something like mini-fireworks when they came into contact with his flames. He blinks in surprise, before shrugging and going to open the card. A folded piece of paper falls out of it.

            “That’s new,” (Y/N) notes. “What’s it say, Grillby?”

            Grillby picks up the paper and skims through it. His brow furrows, and he actually rereads it, as if doubting he’d read it correctly the first time. Then he chuckles knowingly, refolds the paper, and carefully tucks both the invitation and paper into his breast pocket.

            “What’s it say?” I echo, starting to grow a little concerned. I don’t like the look he’s giving me.

            “Frisk simply asked me to cater at the party,” he says, turning away. That doesn’t explain the creepy smile, though.

            “What _else_ does it say?” I press.

            “Nothing else,” he deadpans. “Well, nothing else I can tell you, that is.”

            “Something’s definitely up,” (Y/N) murmurs.

            I have to agree with her. Something’s up, and I don’t like it. However curious I am, though, I don’t feel like getting dragged into a second argument. I don’t try to pry deeper and instead take another swig of my ketchup. (Y/N) seems to have a similar train of thought, and continues munching on her hamburger as if nothing remotely interesting had happened.  

            “So, Grillbz,” I say eventually, glancing towards the front of the pub. “Since when did you have a piano in here?”

            “Piano?!” (Y/N) exclaims, her hamburger falling to her plate, forgotten. “Where?!”

            “Uh… over there,” I say, pointing towards the front left.

            There used to be a few tables there, but they’d been cleared out in favor of a dusty old upright piano. I’ve never seen it before, which strikes me as a little odd. After so many resets, I should know this place inside and out—I guess that means it’s a fairly recent addition.

            “I told you about this weeks ago, Sans,” Grillby sighs, shaking his head slightly. “Someone found it abandoned in waterfall, and I requested they move it here. It arrived yesterday.”

            “Oh yeah…”

            I vaguely remember him mentioning something about a piano, but the memory is so faded that it’s practically disappeared. Technically speaking, if I count the resets, he told me about it over a year ago. 

            (Y/N) rubs her hands furiously on her jeans (getting all the grease off of them, I guess), before hurriedly standing up.

            “Hey, you don’t mind if I use it, do you?” she asks Grillby, her voice practically bubbling with excitement. “I haven’t gotten to practice in, like, _forever_.”

            “You play piano?” I ask, eyesockets widening a little bit.

_Geez, she does_ everything _,_ I think. _She sings, she writes, and now she plays the piano._

            “Yup,” she says, beaming.

            “Well, I’ve gotta hear this,” I say cheekily, crossing one leg over the other and making myself comfortable. “I’ve never gotten to hear the amazing (Y/N) in concert before.”

            She breaths in sharply at my words, her smile all but fading away. She slowly sinks back onto her stool, a somewhat apprehensive look on her face.

            “Never mind,” she murmurs.

            _Uh oh. Did I say something wrong?_

“You may if you want,” Grillby says, looking a little puzzled. “But… now you seem as if you would rather not. Is something the matter?”

            “I’ve never played in front of anyone but Frisk before,” she mutters, twirling a strand of hair around a finger. “And I haven’t practiced in over a week… and I don’t even play that well on a good day. And even if I did…”

            “Stage fright,” I guess. She nods, her cheeks flushing.

            “That is nothing to worry about,” Grillby assures her. “Everyone here is very kind—no one would judge you. In fact, I have not met a single monster in all the Underground that actually plays the piano. So, if you want to be technical about it, you are already better than all of us.”

            “And besides,” I add, “what makes you think you’re not good?”

            “Oh, well… I’m not expert,” she mumbles. “I just kinda… play what I want to, I guess. I’m not a big fan of all that classical stuff. I can’t even read music that well—it takes me months to learn a new piece, and I have to listen to someone else play it before I can get anywhere.”

            “Well, it sounds to me…” Grillby says thoughtfully. “That you tend to play by ear. And if you can play by ear, then that is a very big accomplishment.”

            “Means you’re a natural,” I correct. “C’mon, Buttercup—you should play somethin.’ If it helps any, you can just pretend we’re not here.”

            I _really_ want to hear her play. I’ve seen how quickly those fingers of hers move across her keyboard—I can only imagine how they fly across the piano’s keys. She looks at me critically, like she’s trying to assess whether or not I’m being genuine. She seems to decide that I am, and takes a deep breath.

            “Alright,” she mutters. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

            Suddenly, a really good pun comes to mind, and I catch her by the wrist before she can walk away.

            “Hey, what’s the difference between a musician and a dead body?” I ask, grinning. She’ll love this one.

            “I don’t know,” she says. She smiles and rolls her eyes—she already knows me so well. “What’s the difference?”

            “One _composes_ , and the other _decomposes_.”

            She takes a moment to drink in the pun, and then beams at me. I can feel the tension leaving her body, and it manifests as an airy laugh.

            “Wow, Sans,” she says, wiping away a fake tear. “That was actually really clever… for once.”

            “Come on,” I say, already preparing another one. “My puns are always _majorly_ creative.”

            “Oh boy,” she says. “This is going to go on for a while, isn’t it?”

            “I dunno,” I say, winking. “Depends on how much _treble_ you give me.”

            “I guess I can stay here and listen to your puns, if you’d rather me not play…”

            I’m quick to let go of her, raising my hands as a placating gesture.

            “Piano it is then,” she says, giggling.

            She makes her way to the other end of the room, carefully weaving between the haphazardly placed tables. Wherever she passes, monsters look up at her in curiosity, wondering what she’s doing. She sits at the piano, everything but a tuft of her (h/c) hair disappearing behind the piano’s bulk. She takes a moment to do some kind of warm up (I think they’re called scales?). The notes are shaky at first, but they slowly smooth out as she gains more confidence.

            The room goes almost completely silent, any remaining conversations hushed as the patrons wait in anticipation of her first song. She takes an audible deep breath, and then launches into the first bars of a song. It’s sweet, yet melancholy at the same time—soft yet driving. It’s surprising how contradictory it is at times… and yet, I can’t help but think that it sounds somewhat familiar. I’ve never heard the song before, but somehow… it reminds me of someone.

            _Wow… I don’t know what she was talking about. She sounds amazing._

            When the song ends, silence returns to the room. Then, applause rings out, echoing against the stone walls like thunder. I don’t applaud, but my smile is so wide I’m pretty sure it’s taking up half of my face. (Y/N) peeks around the side piano, as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing. When she catches my eye, I throw her a thumbs-up. She instantly flushes, and goes back to hiding behind the piano.

            She plays another song, and then another, and another. Before I know it, a good hour’s gone by. And still, she hasn’t lost a single member of her audience.

            “This is the last one,” she calls. A disappointed “aww” echoes through the room. “My fingers are starting to go numb. And besides, that’s _literally_ all the songs I have memorized.”

            “(Y/N)!” I call.

            “Yeah?”

            “You should sing to it.”

            “Sans, I told you…”

            “Does the song have lyrics to it?”

            “Well, yeah, but…”

            “Then you should sing to it,” I say, determined to get her to overcome her stage fright.

            “That is an excellent idea,” Grillby adds.

            “Yeah, (Y/N), sing to it,” a monster calls.

            “Yeah!”

            Pretty soon, the entire room is chanting for her to sing. (Y/N) seems a little bit overwhelmed, but she reluctantly agrees. (Not before she gives me the stink eye, though.) She takes a moment to gather her courage, and then starts playing again, her ethereal voice raised in accompaniment. 

           

[Lapis Lazuli Piano Cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igswH1Lyzsc) and [Lapis Lazuli Vocal Cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_de94rSr8m8)

 

 

“The crescent moon’s so high in this dark and lonely sky,

An ocean of obsidian tangled in the light,

So make a wish now upon a shooting star,

And watch it fly across the night, into the beyond.”

 

            This is by far the most complicated song she’s played so far. And yet, somehow, she manages to sing along to it in perfect sync, not so much as a note out of place.

 

“In this unwritten tale, without a single word,

Could somehow own the night—the moon only a blur,

The hidden masterpiece you hide where none can see,

Would take to the sky like a bird set free.

 

Tomorrow, we’ll spread our wings and find where we belong,

You dream to see the world someday,

Would you mind if I tag along?

Listen close, and you can hear, as it’s suddenly drawing near,

Your wish is coming true.

 

The crescent moon’s so high in this dark and lonely sky,

An ocean of obsidian tangled in the light,

So make a wish now upon a shooting star,

And watch it fly across the night,

Ah, until this whole dream, has come to an end!

 

So if we lose our way because the map we drew

Is quickly blown away, lost to the desert wind

I pray a light appears to guide our drifting souls

Into an age to last a thousand years

 

You’ve fallen prey to desolation time and time again 

But I only remember how carefree you were back then 

All the things we long to hold, as our cards begin to fold,

Appear within our reach

 

Let’s break away the veil of this dark and endless night

Your tears will fade into days that still lie ahead

If you could take what’s reflected in your heart,

Beyond the dawn you’d set your sight

Ah, this swift gale of wind will carry us there…”

 

            I’m completely entranced—(Y/N) practically turns into a siren when she sings. I’m not the only one. Grillby’s flames have reverted back to their pink state, and he’s leaning so far forward than his elbows are resting against the far end of the bar. And I don’t mind. His reaction is justified, after all. Who could resist (Y/N) after hearing her sing like this?

            When she finishes, the entire restaurant falls silent, as though they’re exiting a trance state. Then, the whole building erupts, cheers and whistles bouncing off the ceiling along with her audience’s enthusiastic clapping. Her face is completely red when she finally stands up, offering an awkward wave to her new-found fans. She hurries back to the bar, and practically collapses against it, panting for all she’s worth.

            “That was incredible, Buttercup,” I murmur. In all honesty, there aren’t any words that can express how amazing that was—she beats out that Metta-dork by a mile. But I’ve never had a way with words, so ‘incredible’ is the best I can come up with.

            “ _That_ is an understatement,” Grillby says, agreeing with my silent statement. “Well, was it as bad as you had thought, (Y/N)?”

            “No… talking,” she gasps. “Breathing. Just… breathing.”

            “I guess that took a lot outta you, huh?” I note, chuckling. “I guess it’s about high time we leave—you can catch a nap at my place, or somethin.’”

            “Sounds good,” she murmurs tiredly. “I… wow, that was a lot at once.”

            I get up, and wait for her to do the same. When she doesn’t, I poke her playfully in the side.

            “Am I gonna have to carry you?” I ask, easily dodging her clumsy swat of retaliation. “’Cause I’d really rather not—you’re pretty heavy, you know.”

            “Did you just call me heavy?” she asks, raising an accusatory eyebrow.

            “I dunno. Did I?” I ask mischievously.

            “Rawr,” she growls half-heartedly, staggering to her feet.

            Grillby coughs, drawing my attention away from (Y/N).

            “So… are you going to pay at some point, Sans?” he asks. I freeze, fighting down the urge to teleport.

            “Heh… uh… just put it on my tab, Grillbz.”

            “Right,” he mutters. “The tab. And are you going to pay _that_ off, at some point?”

            “Probably,” I say, dodging the question.

            “Wait, I can’t let you pay for me,” (Y/N) says suddenly. “Oh, darn it, I completely forgot—that gold Frisk gave me is in my backpack…”

            “Uh, it’s no trouble or anything,” I say.

            “It’s not that,” she says, checking her pockets. “I just don’t like being indebted to people. It can make for a lot of nasty situations later on.”

            “You sound like you’re talking from experience,” I note.

            “Kinda,” she admits. Then she sighs, finding her pockets empty. “Well, this is awkward. I guess I’m going to have to wash dishes or something.”

            “No, not at all,” Grillby says, waving it off. “I would tell you that it was on the house, as it was your first time here… however, it seems you would prefer I not give it to you free. So, I will instead say that we are even. Perhaps even more than even—you just gave me over an hour of free entertainment, after all.”

            “Well, when you put it that way,” she says. “I guess so.”

            “See you around, Grillbz,” I say, leading the way out of the pub.

            “Actually, I have a proposition for you, (Y/N).”

            She hesitates, turning back towards Grillby.

            “How would you like to work here? After all, what good is a piano without a pianist?”

            (Y/N) mulls it over, a thoughtful hand raising to her chin.

            “I would pay you, of course. And it would only have to be for an hour a day.”

            “I’d love to,” she says finally, a smile stretching across her face. “Actually, the works out perfectly—if I’m going to be living here for the rest of my life, it makes sense that I should get a job. As much as I love Toriel, I’m an adult, and I should probably start acting like one.”

            “Then it is settled,” Grillby says, a rare smile crossing his flaming face. “Would you be opposed to starting tomorrow?”

            “No.”

            “Then I will see you at eleven,” he says. “Just in time for rush hour.”

            “Alright,” she says. “See you tomorrow!”

            I’m not entirely sure how I feel about (Y/N) spending so much time around Grillby, especially after today… but I’m not going to protest if it means I can listen to her play again. She waves to Grillbz and follows me out the door, the cheery twinkling of a bell sounding as it closes behind us. All’s well that ends well, I suppose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>         Woooo! Grillby's! XD Yup. I completely underestimated how much was going to happen at Grillby's. This is the longest chapter yet... and when you consider that it's Part 2, well... yeah. That's a lot of time spent at Grillby's.   
>         So, I will admit that I was all over the place this time around. (However, in my defense, I had a fever when I was writing most of it, so... but the writing's good! I was very impressed with myself on that point.)  
>         And just so I stave off calls of inconsistancy--yes, I know that the cannon version of Undertale doesn't have bathrooms. But the bathroom excuse is an easy way to get a character away from the others, and so I took full advantage of it. I guess ZanaTale AU now includes restrooms. :-)  
>         For people who are worried about pacing, things are going to pick up REALLY soon. Look forward to a lot of important chapters.   
>         I should probably say something about the songs I included, before I forget. The song is Lapis Lazuli Aoi Air from Arslan Senki ED. (Which is yet another anime who's songs I have, but I haven't actually watched.) The piano cover was made by the extremely talented KzMac Piano, and the lyrics I included were once again from AmaLee. (AmaLee is one of my favorite Youtube singers.) 
> 
>       And, finally, here's some food for thought:  
>         *Will Sans ever confess?  
>         *What the heck is going to happen at this party that Frisk planned?  
>         *What is the Sans' Special, if it's not regular 'ol ketchup?  
>         *What do you think Sans' and Papyrus's soul traits be? I think Paps' would be loyalty, and Sans' would be discernment. 
> 
> Until Next Time, Guys!  
> \--Zana


	18. Duty Calls

            You smile as you push the door to Grillby’s open, its attached bell cheerfully signaling your presence. The buzz of conversation in the room pauses briefly, just long enough for the regulars to call out greetings to you.

            “Hey, (Y/N)!”

            “How’s it goin,’ (Y/N)?”

            “Hi, guys!” you call back, giving the monsters a small wave. After a few days of working at Grillby’s, you’re starting to become more comfortable around the customers. In fact, you’re actually starting to gain a few new friends—you’re not nearly as popular as Sans, but your music is quickly turning you into a close second.

            “Yo! Miss (Y/N)!” a young monster hollers, bouncing excitedly over to you. “You’re going to play again, right?”

            You crouch down so that you’re at their eye level, a warm grin lighting up your face at their enthusiasm. This little armless reptilian monster has come to all six of your mini-concerts so far, and has quickly become one of your biggest fans. (Yes, as amazing and unbelievable as it is… you have fans. Of the domestic sort. It’s not like you’re a big-shot, or anything.) He’s also one of Frisk’s friends, and you often see the two of them playing in the snow together. If you remember correctly, Frisk introduced him to you as monster kid, or MK.  

            “I sure am,” you chirp, your eyes following their energetically bobbing frame. “Let me guess—you have a request for me, don’t you?”

            “Yeah, that’s right!” he exclaims, his tail waving happily in the air behind him. Then he hesitates, a more uncertain expression taking the place of his usually overconfident one. “Uh… that’s okay, right?”

            “Of course.”

            MK beams at you and scurries away, back to the table that’s occupied by two larger reptilian monsters—one pink, and one orange, both equally armless. His parents, you assume. He grabs something that had been laying on top of it with his mouth before hurrying back over to you. Stars sparkle in his eyes as he anxiously waits for you to take it.

            “Is this sheet music?” you ask, gently taking it from him and looking it over.

You can’t help but grimace as you catch sight of the front cover. It’s neon pink, and it features a very narcissistic looking, humanoid robot. He’s striking a ridiculous pose, lounging on top of a grand piano with a red rose held expertly between his teeth. Between the gaudy pink getup (why on Earth is he wearing heels?!) and that insufferable smirk on his face, you almost feel as if you’re holding something a lot more… adult… than a scorebook. You quickly leaf through it, feeling a little relieved when you find musical notes on its pages. 

“Yeah!” MK affirms, completely missing the disgust that originally flashed across your face. “It’s the piano music for Mettaton’s hit songs. I really like his song ‘Haven’t you Noticed I’m a Star.’ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kfezzJKZhQ ) It’s on page 10. Can you play it? Pleeease?”

You turn to the song MK requested, scanning the page. It doesn’t look too difficult, but it’s not too simple, either—right in your comfort zone. From what you’re limited grasp of sight reading can make out, it has a bit of a pop flair to it. You’re not too enthused by the accompanying picture, though. This ‘Mettaton’ person is striking an extremely corny, and yet somehow seductive, pose. For some reason, it reminds you (and not of a good way) of a certain celebrity from the surface. You’re not going to turn the little dinosaur down, though. He’s just too adorable in that oversized yellow and brown striped sweater of his.

“Sure, MK, I’d love to play it for you,” you say, forcing down the urge to find the nearest trashcan. “It’ll take me some time to learn, but I’ll see what I can do. Uh… should I make a copy of it, or…?”

“No, the book’s for you!” MK exclaims, beaming.

“Really?” you ask, touched.

It’s extremely rare for anyone to give anything to you, presents or otherwise. And despite your growing disdain for the idol the music belongs to, this is the perfect gift for you. You left all of your sheet music on the surface, so you’d been meaning to build up your selection again. In fact, you’d begun composing a little in the last week to try and make up for it.

It’s slow work—especially since your music-reading skills aren’t exactly up to snuff—but you’re inspired, and the fact fills you with determination. There’s so many interesting people down here… you’ve actually started to write theme songs for them. (And it also helps that your awesomely high-tech phone can turn into a keyboard, as well as translate what you play on it into a music score. You’re _really_ going to have to thank Alphys for that particular modification.)

You suddenly realized that you’d spaced out, and quickly snap back to reality.

“That’s really nice of you, MK,” you say, rubbing the top of their scale-ridden head. “I’ll be sure to learn a couple of them.”

“Thanks, Miss (Y/N)!” he exclaims. He’s literally jumping up and down in anticipation. “I can’t wait!”

With that, he rockets away, rejoining his parents at their booth. He loses his balance at the last minute, and almost slams his head into the table… but his mom (luckily) has lightning fast reflexes. She catches MK with her tail, before scolding him about how you’re not supposed to run indoors. You chuckle softly at the sight of it and tuck the booklet under your arm, before straightening and glancing over at the piano. You could go over and start playing immediately… but you feel you should address the elephant in the room.

Judging from the tingling sensation making its way up and down your spine, _he’s_ been staring at you ever since you first walked in the door, and he’s still up to it. You nonchalantly glance over in the direction of the bar, trying to disguise your anticipation with a deadpan expression. It doesn’t work in the slightest. The minute you meet Sans’ eye, you break into a goofy smile, your heart racing at the very sight of him. He returns your smile tooth-for-tooth, lazily waving you over.

“You’re here _again_ , Sans?” you ask, rolling your eyes in mock irritation.

“Yup,” he says, winking at you. “Where else would I be? I’d hate to miss one of your concerts, Buttercup.”

You instantly flush at the hidden praise in his words, and you start to twirl your hair like some kind of starry-eyed school girl. An amused expression crosses Sans’ face at the sight of it, and you put in a huge effort to still your hands. You can’t help but feel a little bit annoyed with yourself—why do you always have to be so obvious about everything? Doesn’t your body understand what a “poker face” is?

            Sans has visited Grillby’s every single day since you were first given the job, with the sole purpose of listening to you play the piano (and to pressure you into singing, of course). He gets this dreamy expression when you play… and it’s ridiculously cute. It’s so cute that it’s actually _distracting_. You’ve messed up multiple songs because you couldn’t tear yours eyes away from him.

And that’s not even the worst of it. When the two of you visited the MTT department store to get Frisk presents for her birthday, you’d gone on a tangent to get yourself some much needed clothes. (You could only fit so much into a backpack.) You were lucky to find a store that services all of the more humanoid monsters, but since you had Sans with you… well… you’d have to be brain dead not to notice the way he was eyeing the underwear section. You were so self-conscious that you ended up buying clothes that were a size too small, and you had to go back the next day with Frisk to trade them in for the right sizes.

In fact, all he has to do is talk to you, about _anything_ , and he’ll elicit an embarrassingly flustered response from you. For example, the other day, he was talking to you about hot dogs. (Makes sense, since he runs a stand over in Hotland.) Of course, you being the dirty-minded young adult that you are (and don’t you dare deny it!), your mind wandered. If you so wanted, you could have used your face as a grill afterwards.

_Sans is a_ skeleton _,_ you remind yourself. _There’s not exactly much potential there for… uh…_ that _._

However, it’s amazing how creative a—ahem— _wanting_ mind can be. You’ve come up with at least ten workarounds to the obvious problem, and you’re fairly sure more aren’t out of the question. Anyway, the point is that while it may have taken you a while to realize it, you’ve finally managed to accept the fact that you’re… well… you’ve got it bad. For a skeleton.

“Uh… Buttercup? Do I have something on my face or something? ‘Cause, uh…”

Sans’ irresistibly deep voice snaps you back to reality, and you realize that you’d been staring at him while you’d done your reflecting. You almost feel like you’ve been caught looking through an adult magazine, and your annoyingly persistent blush deepens to match.

“Oh, no! Not at all!” you exclaim quickly. “You’re fine! I was just… uh… thinking, I guess.”

“Thinking?” he asks, raising a non-existent eyebrow. “I see. I’d ask you what about, but I’m not sure I wanna know—that was a really creepy look you were givin’ me, Buttercup.”

You cringe, a beat of sweat slowly making its way along your hairline. You’d been making a face? Oh god, you hope not—the last thing you need is for Sans to start thinking you’re some kind of pervert. 

“Geez Buttercup, I’m joking,” Sans says, giving you a concerned look. “You okay? You look tense.”

“Yep! Totally fine!” you squeak, your voice unnaturally high. “Sorry, I have to go, uh… piano! I have to go play piano. ‘Cause… y’know, that’s my job. To play piano. Over there. In the corner. So, yeeeaaah… bye!”

You can practically _feel_ Sans’ confusion as you turn on your heel and stiffly walk towards the other end of the room, using all of your restraint to keep yourself from running.

“(Y/N), wait a moment please,” a smooth voice calls. “I have something I want to discuss with you.”

You hesitantly turn around, and you’re just in time to see Grillby say something to Sans, gesturing towards you as if making some sort of point. He’s speaking too softly for you to make out what he’s saying, but it doesn’t seem like it’s something Sans’ wants to hear. Grillby straightens as you approach them again, and turns towards you.

“I wanted to let you know that I am going to be closing early today, for the party,” Grillby says. “I will need time to prepare everything, and so I am going to lock up in half an hour.”

Oh yeah, the party. You’re usually not the type to enjoy events with lots of people, but you’ve secretly been looking forward to it. You suppose that Frisk’s excitement has rubbed off on you—she was practically bouncing off the walls this morning. And besides, you’re curious what your sister has planned for you. (Toriel and her have been giving you these creepily mischievous looks ever since you told them that Sans accepted her invitation. She’s _got_ to be up to something.)

“Okay,” you say. “Sounds good. Do you need help or anything?”

“No, I should be able to handle everything,” he says, surveying a list of some sort. “I brought it up so you could plan your performance accordingly.”

“Gotcha,” you say. “Guess I’ll have to shorten it a bit.”

You turn to go again, but Sans stops you short.

“We’re going together, right? Since you don’t know where it is?” he asks.

“Right,” you say. “And you have the presents?”

“Yup,” he affirms. “I had Paps wrap them for me and everything.”

“What, you couldn’t wrap them yourself?” you ask teasingly.

“Nah. Too much work,” he says, shrugging. “Anyway, you’d better get goin.’ Sounds like you’ve gotta _wrap_ this up quick.”

You smile and turn away, rolling your eyes at the weak attempt at a pun.

“What? No reaction?” he asks.

“Not at the _present_.”

“Heh, good one—must’ve been a piece of cake.”

“We’re not even _there_ yet,” you call, already halfway across the room. “It’s too early for party-related puns!”

Sans chuckles, and draws a breath—you’re sure he already has some sort of punny response laid out. However, you duck behind the bulk of the piano and out of sight before he can let loose. You’ve only just sat down, and already the room has hushed.

_Let’s see… half an hour. I guess I’ll play that, and that… Sans will definitely want me to sing something. So, I guess… that’ll work._

If there’s been one constant in the last few days, it’s that Sans has consistently gotten you to sing at least once each concert. You just can’t say no to him for some reason, no matter how much you want to. It helps that you’re starting to get used to the crowd, though. Performing in front of people isn’t as bad as you’d thought it’d be. You’re starting to get used to it, but that doesn’t keep your hands from shaking.

You do some brief warm-ups, doing a few of the easier scales and their accompanying arpeggios. When you feel confident enough not to turn everything you play into a shaky mess, you start into your first song. As always, you picked Decretum. You figure that your audience might be getting tired of hearing it by now, but you have it so well memorized that it’s more of an extended warm up than anything else.

From there, you play four or five other songs, opting to choose something slower paced. You take occasional glances at a clock Grillby had placed on the wall, keeping track of your time. You might actually make it. Sans’ is so engrossed in your music that he’s forgotten the time—you may get away without singing. 

“(Y/N)!” he calls, just moments before your fingers return to the keys. You groan quietly, and peek around the side of the piano. You shouldn’t have jinxed it. “Sing something!”

_I’m going to get back at him for this someday,_ you think, glaring at him. Your meek resistance is instantly drowned out by the encouraging cheers of the others in the restaurant. _I’m going to have to get him to sing something sometime. See how he likes it._

Despite your silent protests, you sigh and ready yourself for your song, taking a deep breath to try and quell the butterflies that are swirling in your stomach.

 

[Lost in Thoughts All Alone by Amalee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsz5ijRQvUY)

 

“You are an ocean of waves, weaving a dream,

Like thoughts become a river stream,

Yet may the tide ever change,

Flowing like time, to the path, yours to climb…”

 

“Thou seek the light… with an outstretched hand,

A divine blade lies before you,

So command the wake of dreams,

To restore the world, cut way the seams.”

“Join in our prayer—in our song—of birthrights and love,

Come the sun, illuminate the sky,

Pray that we may quell the dark,

Light take the throne,

Lost in thoughts all alone…”

 

            A tingling of a bell sounds from the front door, nearly throwing you off. Luckily, you manage to catch yourself, and keep going. Your listeners didn’t even notice your slip. You take a moment to shoot an annoyed glance at the newcomer (though you know it wasn’t really their fault), and you almost mess up again when you see who it is. Even though you’ve never met him before, you recognize him instantly. Who could forget seeing a robot make such a ridiculous pose on top of a grand piano?

            The almost painfully handsome, pink-clad robot pauses in the entry way, his gaze flitting over the assembled monsters. He almost seems as if he’s waiting for them to notice his presence—he’s even striking a pose for them. They’re too focused on you to so much as give him the time of day. He’s obviously unused to being ignored, because surprise is quick to manifest on his metallic facial features and he glances over at you, his bubble-gum pink eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks almost dumbfounded.

            You hold his gaze for a moment, but then he blinks and turns away, heading towards an unoccupied booth in the corner. You mentally shrug the encounter off and go back to your music, trying your best to finish the song without making any more mistakes.

 

“You are an ocean of waves, weaving a dream,

Like thoughts become a river stream

Yet may the tide ever change,

Flowing like time to the path yours to climb…

You… are an ocean of waves…”

 

            You hold the last note, letting it fade out naturally. The pub bursts into applause, right on cue. You think you’d have gotten used to all their praise by now, but that doesn’t seem to be the case—you still manage to blush. You stand up from your place at the piano, and give them a small wave.

            “That’s it for today,” you tell them. There’s a collective groan, and you can’t help but smile as they call for an encore. “Sorry, but I’m serious. Grillby’s closing up early, so you guys should start thinking about leaving.”

            You glance over at Grillby so he can confirm your statement, which he does by giving the room in general a nod. Another groan ensues, and the patrons slowly start to make their way out of the restaurant and back into the snow. MK runs up to you before he goes, bouncing excitedly at your feet.

            “Yo, Miss (Y/N)! That was awesome!” he exclaims. “You’re gonna come again, right? Right?!”

            “That’s right,” you say, stifling a giggle as you glance down at the energetic young monster. “I’ll be here Monday, okay?”

            He nods so hard you think his head might fall off, before running towards the front doors after his parents. This time, he _does_ trip. He flies right out of the glass double doors, landing face-first in a snowdrift. You gasp, and you’re about to run over to him, but he manages to get up on his own (despite the fact that he does have arms). He shakes the snow off of himself and waves at you with his tail, before speeding away again.

            _That kid,_ you think, smiling to yourself. _He’s too hyper for his own good._

            Soon, Grillby’s is completely empty, with the exception of you, Sans, and Grillby. Oh, and that robot guy.

_Mettaton,_ you remind yourself, glancing over in his direction. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard of him. He’s on every single TV channel, and Frisk mentioned him to you once or twice. Apparently, the two of them had a… well, an encounter. Frisk had told you that it was a “posing contest,” but something tells you that there was probably more to it than that.

            But anyway, despite being the Underground’s #1 celebrity, you aren’t too impressed. While you have to admit that he looks even spiffier in person than he does on TV (he’s very shiny, and who doesn’t like shiny things?), there’s this egotistical vibe about him that’s really rubbing you the wrong way. You keep a close eye on him as he gets up from his place in the corner and crosses over to the bar.

            “Hello Grillby, darling.” Mettaton’s somewhat synthetic voice almost seems to purr as it emanates from his front-facing speakers. “It’s been a while.”

            “Hello, Mettaton,” Grillby replies, not so much as looking up at the robotic idol. He continues polishing the glass that he’d been holding, allowing the room to fall into an awkward silence. You’re not sure why, but there’s a lot of tension in the air.

            “Did you _want_ something, Mettaton?” Sans asks suddenly, glaring at the robot. Mettaton grimaces, studiously avoiding Sans’ gaze. Again, you aren’t entirely sure what’s going on here. All you can tell at first glance is that Sans and Mettaton don’t like each other.

            “Alphys sent me,” he says tightly, “to offer you my assistance—”

            “What, you couldn’t offer your own assistance?” Sans asks, narrowing his eyes.

            “Look, I’m here, aren’t I?” Mettaton snaps. “Do you really want to lug the grill all the way to waterfall by yourselves?”

            “Heh. If it means talking to you, I’d _prefer_ to do it myself.”

            “Sans,” Grillby says, a tone of warning in his voice.

            “Not that I’m gonna be doing any lugging,” he adds quickly, gesturing to Grillby. “He’s your guy.”

            “I know. I never asked _you_ ,” Mettaton drawls, setting one hand aggressively on his hip.

            Blue flickers somewhere deep inside Sans’ left eyesocket, and Mettaton subtly taps his heels against the floor (those things are so sharp they almost look _dangerous_ ). Before Sans can start another bar-brawl, you decide to step in and try to keep the peace.

            “Did you say that you know Alphys?” you ask, walking over and leaning against the bar. Mettaton jumps, apparently having forgotten your presence.

            “Oh, yes—she built me actually,” he says smoothly. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to cover up his previous agitation with a seductive pose. “And you must be (Y/N)—Alphys told me a lot about you.”

            “That’s right,” you confirm, graciously ignoring his proximity to you. “And you’re Mettaton, right?”  

            “So you’ve heard of me,” he says, sounding pleased. “But of course you have. I’m the most popular star in the Underground, after all.”

            “That’s only because there isn’t anyone else,” Sans grumbles, crossing his arms. “Any half-baked drama student could easily kick your rusty—”

            “But anyway,” Mettaton says loudly, shooting Sans a dirty look, “that was you at the piano earlier, wasn’t it? I must say, your voice was simply _gorgeous_.”

            “O-oh, uh… I’m not really _that_ good,” you stammer, looking away.

            “There’s no need to be modest, darling!” he exclaims, grasping one of your hands in both of his. “You were as pretty as a songbird. Alphys said that you were talented, but I had no _idea_ —”

            Grillby coughs to draw attention to himself, before tapping his wrist decisively. His meaning is obvious—if we don’t hurry, we’re going to be late.

            “Okay, okay,” Mettaton grumbles. “You’re right—we should get going… I’m assuming you _are_ going to let me help you?”

            Grillby sighs heavily, before nodding and waving Mettaton into the back.

            “Fabulous! I’d like to stay and chat with you more, darling, but it seems I have work to do,” Mettaton says. “I’d like to take up this conversation up with you later, though—maybe at the party?”

            “Uh… sure,” you say.

            “Then it’s a date!” he exclaims, fixing you with an unnaturally white smile. “Until then, darling. Toodles~”

            Mettaton and Grillby vanish into the back, leaving Sans and you to yourselves.

            “What was all that about?” you wonder aloud.

            “Hmm?” Sans asks.

            “What’s going on between you three?” you ask. “You guys don’t seem to like Mettaton very much.”

            “What, and _you_ do? I saw the way you giving him the stink eye earlier,” Sans points out.

            “Well… it’s not that I don’t like him,” you say. “I mean, I hardly know him, so it’s too early to pass judgment. But he just didn’t strike me as someone I’d get along with easily, I guess. Does that make sense?”

            Sans nods and turns to finish the last of his bottle of ketchup. It’s only then that you realize that he completely dodged your question.

            “Hey, you still haven’t given me an answer,” you say.

            “Why don’t I like the rust bucket?” Sans asks, his voice deceptively calm. “Simple. He’s a talentless drama queen who has a tendency to stick his selfish nose where it _doesn’t belong_.”

_…Sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong?_

            You’re getting the feeling that you shouldn’t press the issue much further—Sans is staring at his ketchup with a murderous look on his face.

            “So anyway, are you ready to go?” you ask, skillfully changing the subject. “Frisk will have my head if we’re late.”

            “Yeah,” Sans sighs. “I guess.”

            “You don’t sound too enthusiastic,” you note, watching him carefully as he gets up from his place at the bar.

            “Oh, I’m just not a big fan of parties,” he says dismissively. “Too many people. And Mettaton.”

             “Ah,” you say, leading the way towards the front doors. “Well, maybe this one won’t be so bad… seeing as it was Frisk and Papyrus that planned it.”

            “Maybe,” Sans says dubiously.

            “Oh, come on,” you say, giggling quietly as you playfully bump with one shoulder. “It might even be fun.”

            “You only say that ‘cause you’ve never had to live through one of my bro’s spaghetti buffets,” he retorts, shoving back at you. “Grillbz may be catering, but I can _guarantee_ that Paps made spaghetti, too—and no less than twenty different types.”

            “Okay, okay,” you gasp, tearing up as he pokes you in the ribs. “You win! It’s going to be _god awful_ , and we’re all going to _die_ from spaghetti poisoning, if Mettaton doesn’t _pose_ us to death first.”

            “Exactly,” Sans says, chuckling. “But don’t worry, I’ve already got the perfect epitaph lined up out for you—‘here lies (Y/N), who suffered an untimely death by glamour.’”

            You snort and roll your eyes, holding the door for Sans to take.

            “I’ve got one for you, too. ‘Here lies Sans, the stick-in-the-mud.’”

            “That’s not even funny,” he complains.

            You stick your tongue out at him and run a few paces ahead, before turning around and walking backwards so you can talk to him. You were going to say something… but it slipped your mind. You’re too preoccupied. Now that you’re looking at him, Sans seems… different, somehow. But for the life of you, you can’t put your finger on why. You stare at him intently, trying to identify what the difference is.

            “Uh… Buttercup?” Sans asks, his cheekbones showing the barest traces of blue.

            “You look different,” you tell him thoughtfully. “But I can’t figure out _why_.”

            He raises a nonexistent eyebrow and pointedly stuffs his hands into his pant pockets.

            _Wait… pant pockets? I don’t remember his shorts having… oh._

You must be blind. While his hoodie and shirt are the same, he’s traded his gym shorts for grey cargo shorts. He’s also wearing a pair of blue converse in the place of his slippers (though his laziness still shines through—his shoes are untied). It’s a small change, but it still manages to make him look more put-together.

            _How on Earth did I miss that?_         

            “Is… it a bad kind of different?” he asks casually, looking away.

            “Not at all,” you assure him. Actually, if you’re being honest with yourself, he looks kind of cute like this. “What’s the occasion?”

            “Does there have to be one?” he mumbles, running a hand down the back of his skull. You can’t help but smile as he turns a shade bluer.

            “No,” you say, “but it’s not like you.”

            “Well, Paps asked me to wear something a little bit nicer to this party thing,” Sans mutters. “And so I figured, y’know, that I might as well…”

            “Well, it looks good on you,” you say, grinning. “All you need to do now is tie your shoes.”

            “You’re askin’ the impossible, Buttercup,” Sans says, winking at you. “Too much effort.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes. “So, just how far away is this thing? We’re already late.”

            “Eh, it’s still a ways away,” Sans says. “We should probably take a shortcut—”

            “One day the light of love, though it may seem far away, will shine again in your eyes~” You jump as your phone suddenly goes off, the Madoka Magica ending song emanating from your back pocket.

            “Uh, hold on a second,” you mutter.

            You pull your phone out, curious who could be calling you. (You don’t get calls too often.) It’s Alphys. Actually, that’s not too surprising—she’s probably checking (for the umpteenth time) that you’re going to show up to the party. You sigh and put the phone up to your ear.

            “Hey Alphys,” you say.

            “ _(Y/N), where are you? You’re late!”_ she exclaims. _“And where’s Sans? Oh, I hope he’s with you—Papyrus hasn’t seen him since this morning, and I know how much he hates parties…”_

“Yeah, he’s with me,” you sigh. “And we’re on our way. You worry too much, Alphys.”

            _Why is she so concerned about Sans, though?_ you wonder. _They hardly know each other._

_“Good,”_ she sighs, sounding relived. _“For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to rethink the whole plan.”_

“…Plan?” you ask skeptically. You _knew_ that something weird was going on.

            _“O-oh. D-did I say plan? I… I meant punch,”_ Alphys stammers dubiously.

            “Oh, of course,” you say sarcastically. “Because that makes total sense.”

            _“R-right!”_ she exclaims, completely missing your tone. _“It’s grape, actually—it’s really good. You should totally try it… when… you… g e t …. h e r e….” _

“Alphys? Alphys, are you there? You’re breaking up.”

            There’s no answer. All you’re getting is static.

            _Huh. That’s weird._

You peg the bad reception on being underground, and you go to hang up. But suddenly… something breaks through the static. And it’s _definitely_ not Alphys.

            _“H e l l l o.”_

The sound of the voice (if you can even call it that) chills you to your core. The only way you can describe it is by saying that it sounds like a corrupted recording—it’s pitch and tempo are slowed down to abnormal levels, and the voice got stuck on the ‘l’ sound like a broken record.

            _“C a n   I   s p e a k   t o   **G-G-G-G-G-G-G—** ”_

You’re becoming increasingly unnerved. By the time the recording (or whatever it is) catches at the end, your hands are actually shaking. With a burst of static, the voice completely deteriorates, so garbled and indistinct that they can’t so much as string two syllables together anymore. Whatever’s happening, it’s scaring the crap out of you.

            “(Y/N), is something wrong?” Sans asks, looking at you in concern.

            You open your mouth to tell him that your phone’s going haywire, but you’re interrupted by a sudden searing pain in your ear. You yelp and pull your phone away from you, staring at it in disbelief. It shocked you. Your phone… actually _shocked_ you. The sounds of static gets louder and louder until you can hear it even without your phone pressed to your ear.

            “What the—”

            The minute Sans speaks, the static cuts off, leaving behind an eerie silence. The call is still going, though… and the screen is completely blank, save for a light purple glow. No matter what you do to it, it won’t go away—your phone won’t shut off, either. You get the strangest feeling… that it’s waiting for you. You swallow hard and shakily put the phone back up to your ear, bracing yourself for the worst.

            _“Can you understand me?"_

A new voice comes through, clear except for the occasional glitch. You don’t actually seem to _hear_ it, though… it’s almost as if the words are bouncing around in your mind. You can’t understand a single thing the voice is saying, but you have the vaguest memory of “hearing” something like this before. From where though, you… you can’t remember.

            _That’s strange. Why… why can’t I remember?_

Your memory is usually pretty good, but for some reason… you just can’t place it. And the harder you try to remember, the hazier the information becomes. All you can say for certain is that you associate the voice with the color grey for some reason. 

            _“No? I... was afraid of that."_

            The voice is quickly deteriorating, reverting to its more garbled state. By the time it speaks again, the static is back.

            _“...Soon. I will be strong enough to reach out soon. I...I just need to give it more time."_

            The static is back full force, and the voice’s rapidly fluctuating pitch is making it near impossible to differentiate from the background noise.

            “ _Soon..."_

Your phone clicks softly, announcing the end of the call. You numbly pull it away from your ear again, shock overtaking your earlier fear. You… aren’t sure what to make of all of that.

            “Hey, you okay?” Sans asks, gently putting a hand on your shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

            _More like I heard one._

“I-I’m okay,” you say shakily, stuffing your phone back into your pocket. “I’m definitely creeped out… but I’m okay.”

            Sans looks at you uncertainly, as if wondering whether or not he should press further. He apparently decides not to, and instead reoffers his hand.

            “So… about that shortcut,” he says.

            You nod and take his hand, secretly enjoying the feeling of his bone against your skin. The illogical warmth and softness of it instantly drives any lingering doubts about the weird call from your mind, and the now-familiar butterfly feeling you get in your stomach when Sans’ teleports is (for once) a welcome distraction.

            …

            Little do you know, an invisible presence is watching you… and they’re smiling. The effort of using magic was worthwhile, if only to see you and Sans hand in hand.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>             WOOOO! Finally. I'm so sorry this chapter's late--but school's coming to an end, so (of course)... that means projects. A lot of them. It's been driving me nuts.   
>             About this chapter, it's kinda all improv. I kinda just started... and then this happened. We were supposed to get to the party this chapter, but... *shrugs* I guess I got sidetracked. Hopefully, we'll (finally) get there next chapter. Sorry if I sound a little bit uh... random (?). It's 2:17 am right now, and this is literally the longest I've ever stayed up.  
>             The featured song this chapter is (once again) from Amalee. Funny story--I started playing FE Fates, but then this story happened. I was halfway through the Nohr route, and then I kinda... dropped it. For two months. See, that's what happens when I start a project like this--I give up everything for it. (Believe it or not I haven't played any video games but Undertale for the last two months. I haven't watch anime, either... what's happening to me?!)   
>  Oh yeah, just so you know--the phone call IS Gaster. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how to get the Wingdings to show up right, so now it's just regular 'ol text. Sorry about that! ;-)


	19. Contests and Karaoke

Your Perspective

            Tranquil. If you had to describe waterfall in one word, that would be the word you would use. Well, that or beautiful—both seem equally fitting for the place you find yourself in. The air around you is still and silent except for the distant gurgle of rushing water, giving the area the peaceful feeling of a Zen garden. This feeling is enhanced by the soft glow emitted large blue flowers that are dotted along the walkway, and the bioluminescent water that you can see glowing in the distance. Within seconds of teleporting here, you can already feel your eyelids growing heavy, lulled into a contented laziness by the dim lighting and serenity of Waterfall. You nearly fall over before Sans decides to intervene.

            “Hey there,” he says, grinning as he nudges your shoulder. “As much as I love afternoon naps, we’ve got a party to go to, remember?”

            “Right,” you yawn, wiping at your eyes. If you strain your ears, you can hear distant voices echoing cheerfully off of the cave’s indigo walls. Knowing that they must belong to your friends, you take a step in the direction they’re coming from.

            “Hold on,” Sans says, gently grabbing the back of your shirt. “There’s something I want to show you.”

            “Yeah?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.  

            “Look up.”

            You blink in confusion, but do as he asks. Your heart skips a beat as you catch sight of the crystals that litter the ceiling high above. There must be millions of them, and they’re so far away that they’re nothing more than distant pinpricks. You’d noticed similar crystals embedded in the ceiling above Snowdin—it’s their glow that provides the Underground with light—but these… they’re in a completely different league. Their blue glow is much stronger than the white ones above Snowdin, and against the near-invisible shadow-strewn ceiling, they almost seem as if they’re hanging in mid air.

            “Wow…” you breathe. “They’re just like stars.”

            “Wanna take a closer look?” he asks, chuckling at your awe-filled expression. You can’t say yes fast enough. He grins and saunters over to a telescope that’s set up against the wall, giving it an affectionate pat before leaning casually against the wall. “Knock yourself out.”

            You peer through the telescope’s lens, but you can’t see anything—everything is red. You pull back and give Sans a strange look, before swiping a finger against the lens in question. Your finger comes away covered in red dust… probably dried paint of some kind.

            “Y’know,” you say, putting a hand on your hip and smirking, “if you’re trying to prank me, that was a pretty sad attempt—it would probably work better if the paint were _wet_.”

            “What?” Sans asks you, looking genuinely surprised. “What d’you… oh. _Oh!_ Whoops, I, uh… completely forgot about that. I used it to prank the kid a while back, and I guess I forgot to clean it up afterwards. That, uh… wasn’t intentional. Sorry about that.”

            As he rubs the back of his spine, you can’t help but find the bashful look on his face incredibly endearing.

            “Hey, it’s no biggy,” you say, silently laughing at his discomfort. “Was Frisk’s reaction worth ruining a telescope over?”

            “Definitely,” he says, pulling away from the wall. “She didn’t even notice—it was hilarious.”

            You’re about to say something, but your phone interrupts again. Apprehension gnaws at you as you pull it out (the last thing you want is to be bombarded by more creepy voices), and you glance at the caller ID. It’s Alphys again. You don’t bother to answer, seeing as you already know what she’s calling about.

            “We should probably get over there,” you say, holding your phone up so Sans can see. “Frisk’s probably going to blow a fuse if we’re any later.”

            “You’re right. We wouldn’t want to keep the birthday girl waiting, would we?”

           

***

 

            Sans leads the way further into Waterfall, which you’re more than grateful for. With your sense of direction, you would’ve gotten hopelessly lost in this maze of paths and bridges a long time ago. And you mean that both literally _and_ metaphorically—your mind is easily lost in Waterfall’s beauty, too. The glowing water constantly draws your eye (and sometimes even your hands—you couldn’t resist touching it), and your urge to look at the ceiling has caused you to trip more times than you care to count.

            Even the little things are distracting—the glowing mushrooms, the flowers… even the strands of lightly glowing blue grass, and the dark blue moss beneath your feet. You took off your shoes a long time ago, and are making no secret of how much you enjoy the soft feeling of moss between your toes. You let out a contented sigh, drawing Sans’ attention from his place walking ahead of you.

            “You seem happy,” he notes, showing off a hint of his smile as he glances over his shoulder.

            “Yeah,” you agree. “This is nice—peaceful.”

            “Well, I don’t think it’s gonna last too long,” he says, jerking his chin towards a clearing up ahead.  You can just make out the shapes of your friends as they mill about in a mossy meadow-like area, their voices creating an echo in the surrounding cavern. “Whatever my bro and the kid have planned for us, I don’t think ‘peaceful’ is gonna be a part of it.”

            You have to agree. Whatever your hyperactive little sister has planned, it’s not going to involve enjoying the scenery. Speaking of Frisk, one of the smaller shapes turns towards the two of you as you approach, and then promptly runs over to you, her accompanying squeal bringing a smile to your face. You brace yourself, but Frisk still manages to knock you over when she tackles you. You roll your eyes at her self-satisfied grin, and then gasp as Frisk bounces excitedly from her seat on your stomach, forcing the air from your lungs.

_“You’re finally here!”_ she signs, beaming down at you. _“What took you so long?! You’re late!”_

            “Oh come on,” you gasp, trying (in vain) to catch your breath. “We’re not _that_ late.”

_“It’s been half an hour!”_ she signs indignantly, puffing her cheeks out in an attempt to look angry with you. It doesn’t work very well—it takes all of five seconds for her to start smiling again. She giggles and rolls off of you (much to your relief), before grabbing your hands and hauling you to your feet. _“Come on! I wanna introduce you to some of my friends…”_

            She turns and pulls you after her, catching you off guard as your arm is nearly dislocated.

            “Woah!” you exclaim. “Okay, okay, I’m coming! No need to be so pushy.”

            “Don’t ‘cha mean _pully_?” Sans asks, walking at your shoulder. That was an especially bad one. You try to frown, but your face just won’t let you. You smile and roll your eyes instead, accompanied by a giggle from Frisk. She drops your hand and turns to Sans, her attentions momentarily diverted from you.

_“Woooow, Dunkle. You’re soooo funny,”_ Frisk signs sarcastically. Sans blinks, and then narrows his eyesockets in concentration.

            “Think you could repeat that, kiddo?” he asks. “And, uh… maybe sign a little slower?”

            You’d been surprised (and more than a little happy) when you’d found out that Sans was trying to learn sign language. He told you that since you and Frisk were here to stay, he figured that he might as well find a way to understand her better—just in case you weren’t around to act as translator. You think he might have ulterior motives for doing it, though (probably to earn brownie points with a certain big sister). Frisk repeats herself, slowing her hands to make them easier for Sans to try and decipher. 

            “‘Wow, dunk-uncle. You’re funny,’” he repeats uncertainly. “I get the feeling I’m missing something here. What’s a dunk-uncle?” 

            “That’s you,” you explain, poking him. “She doesn’t like spelling out people’s names, so she gives them nicknames instead. You’re ‘Dunkle.’”

            Sans falls silent, a contemplative expression on his face. Frisk’s smile fades as the silence stretches on, and she seems to look a little apprehensive.

            _“You… don’t like it?”_ she asks, seeming a little put-out. _“I… I can give you a different nickname, if you want—”_

            Sans cuts her off with a raised hand, and his bone-brow furrows slightly as he concentrates.

            _“No! I love it, Kid.”_

            His signs are slow and clumsy, but he’s still improved a lot since the two of you had last practiced. Actually, now that you think about it… he’s been learning a lot faster than you would have thought possible. He started a week ago, and he’s already starting to put together complex sentences. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s done this before. (That, or he’s some kind of hidden genius—it would definitely explain the quantum physics book you found at his house the other day.)

            Frisk’s smile immediately returns at his words, and she throws herself at him, squealing into his jacket. Sans ruffles her hair and glances over at you, looking extremely impressed with himself. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t get the chance. Frisk extracts herself from his jacket and quickly returns to her previous task, forcefully taking one of your hands. She takes one of Sans’ too (much to his dismay) and finishes hauling the two of you over to the other monsters.

            The setup for the party is pretty basic. Someone’s laid a traditional picnic blanket (complete with a red and white checkered pattern) over a section of the ground, and there are three plastic tables set up a little ways away. One of them serves as the drop-off point for gifts, and another is occupied by a cake (marble cake with red frosting, expertly crafted by Toriel) and an assortment of plastic utensils. The third is covered in what looks to be some kind of spaghetti sampler (courtesy of Papyrus, no doubt), and a few different drinks. There’s a stack of what looks to be party games on the ground beside the tables, and you can see Grillby manning a small gas-burning grill a little ways away from the rest of the group, hard at work grilling hamburgers.

            You’re relieved when you see how few people there are. There can’t be more than ten, and most of them are familiar faces—from where you are right now, you can see Papyrus, Alphys, Grillby, Toriel, that cute little monster kid, and Mettaton… as well as two other monsters that you don’t recognize.

            Papyrus and Alphys are over by the grill, discussing something with Grillby. (It must be interesting—the fire elemental seems completely engaged.)

            Toriel is on the blanket, and she’s keeping a close eye on MK, who’s running around in circles around the cake table (apparently excited for cake).

            One of the unfamiliar monsters—a giant blue fish woman, wearing a pair of jeans and a black tank top—goes over to talk to MK, and then joins him in his running. (Her voice is loud enough that you can hear it from all the way over here. It seems like she’s counting laps.) The yellow of her single cat-like eye reflects the light of the area’s growing plants, so it almost seems to flash. In place of her other eye, there’s a black eye patch… you wonder how she lost her eye.

            Mettaton is a little bit apart from the main group with the second unfamiliar monster. You think it’s a ghost… but you try not to make assumptions. You can never really tell for certain when it comes to monsters.

            Frisk leads the two of you over towards that last pair, dropping your hand to wave enthusiastically at them. Mettaton seems a little bit awkward around the ghost, so he brightens considerably when he sees your sister. Frisk raises her hands and gets ready to sign something, but Mettaton beats her to it.

            “Frisk, darling!” he exclaims. “You have perfect timing. I was just telling Blooky here that I want him to be in charge of the music at my upcoming performance, but, as I’m sure you can guess, he needs a little bit of encouragement—”

            Frisk interrupts him with a raised hand.

            “Oh, I’m sorry darling—I didn’t realize that you were going to say something,” he says. “Please, go ahead.”

_“I want you to meet my sis,”_ she signs. Frisk tugs you forward until you’re directly in front of the robot, and then looks up at you expectantly.

            “Frisk says that she wants you to meet me,” you translate.

_“Sis, this is Ton-Ton. Ton-Ton, Sis,”_ she signs, gesturing to the robot when she introduces him.

_That nickname… is adorable,_ you think.

            “Oh, but darling,” Mettaton says, ruffling your sister’s hair affectionately, “we’ve already met. Your sister is a _very_ talented singer, I must say—it seems you aren’t the only person in your family with a knack for the arts.”

            “A knack for the arts, huh?” you ask, glancing down at your sister. “What, did you pick up an instrument while I wasn’t looking, or something?”

            _“No,”_ Frisk signs. _“I can do something better.”_

“Something better, huh?” you ask, smiling as your sister hops up and down excitedly.

            _“Yeah!”_ she exclaims. _“I can… (one, two, three)…”_

She spins in perfect sync with Mettaton, and the two of them end up back-to-back, each of them sporting an identically condescending pose. Pink sparkles appear in the air around them for effect (you think that must be Mettaton’s doing—some kind of magic), and the cheers of a nonexistent crowd resound from his front-facing speakers. Frisk looks extremely pleased with herself, and Mettaton has a predictable smirk on his face.

            _“…pose!”_ she exclaims.

            Sans snorts, but it’s quickly replaced by an ‘oomph’ when you elbow him in the ribs. You may not be thrilled at Frisk’s new-found “talent,” but you would never discourage your sister—and you won’t let Sans turn this into a joke, either. He seems to get the point, because he quickly makes a sound that could—maybe—be interpreted as an impressed hum. (Your intervention doesn’t change his amused grin, though.)

            “Wow,” you say, trying not to sound as underwhelmed as you feel. “That was pretty cool, Frisk.”

            _“I know!”_ she signs enthusiastically. _“Ton-Ton taught me. He says that if I get good, I can be a dancer at one of his performances!”_

 Somehow, you feel that Mettaton had just said that to appease your sister. As a famous idol, you somehow doubt that your sister’s skills will ever cut it. However, in the spirit of being supportive, you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

            A shifting movement catches your eye, and it reminds you that you still haven’t been introduced to the other monster. You turn to look at the ghost-like monster, and blink hard when you find yourself looking _through_ them instead.

            _That’s going to take some getting used to,_ you think, taking a moment to rub at your eyes.

            “Uh, I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” you say.

            The monster shrinks away as you turn their full attention onto them, and you think they may be wishing they were invisible—they become a little more transparent, making it easier to see the flower that’s directly behind them.  

            “Oh………….. Uh………… I’m sorry,” they mutter, looking away. “I…… forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I……. Oh……… oh no………”

            You cringe as the ghost’s eyes start to water, and sneak a glance over at Frisk, silently asking for her help. She doesn’t even notice you—she’s too busy practicing her poses. Mettaton does, though, and he quickly comes to your aid.

            “Oh, I’m sorry darling, I completely forgot to introduce you,” he says. “(Y/N), this is my cousin, Bloo—I mean Napstablook. Napstablook, this is Frisk’s sister, (Y/N).”

            _Wait… how are they related?_ you wonder. _I mean, Mettaton’s a robot._

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say, brushing the thought aside. You hold out a hand for them to shake. There’s an awkward silence while you wait for them to take it… only to realize that they don’t even have hands.

            “Oh…..” they murmur, tears slowly leaking from their large oval eyes. “Oh….. I’m sorry, but I…… I don’t have hands…….. I’m so sorry…….”

            _Oh geez, they’re crying! Oh geez—_

            “No, no—it’s okay!” you say quickly, throwing your own hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s my fault—I didn’t notice! Well, I kinda did, but I wasn’t thinking and so I just kinda… you know what? I’m gonna stop talking now.”

            Sans chuckles quietly, and gives you a knowing look that you feel is equal parts sympathy and amusement. You flush instantly, and start to twirl the hem of your shirt around your fingers to try and release some of your growing nervous energy. You feel that the five of you are slowly falling back into another awkward silence (this is even worse than when you first met Alphys!), but then Frisk saves you from any further social floundering.

            _“Sis, there’s still someone you haven’t met yet! Come on,”_ she says, pulling insistently at your arm. You don’t want to meet anyone else, but you figure it can’t possibly be any worse than what you just went through.

            Sans dutifully follows the two of you as Frisk pulls you over towards the cake table, where MK and that blue fish lady are still running in circles. MK seems to be starting to lose his breath, but the fish lady is still going strong, and continues to call out her lap numbers.

            “Eight seven! Eighty eight! Eighty nine!” she shouts. “Come on, twerp! Keep up—only eleven more until I win!”

            “No! I… I’m gonna… beat you… huff… Undyne!” MK pants. You can’t help but be concerned for the little monster—he’s breathing so hard that you’re afraid that he’s going to keel over.

            Your sister waves, trying to get this “Undyne” person’s attention. It doesn’t work very well—she’s too focused on lapping MK… again. Since you started watching a few seconds ago, she’s done it at least five times. (You’ve never seen someone run so fast in your life—not even that famous Olympian whose pose everyone likes to mimic.)

            Your sister (not being the kind of person to wait patiently), tries to interrupt the two monsters’ race. She throws herself at Undyne, wrapping herself around one of the fish monster’s legs. It doesn’t work. Undyne keeps running, without so much as a glance at her newly acquired, ninety-pound ankle weight.

            _Wow… that’s pretty impressive,_ you think. _I wish I could run like that._

After a few more laps, Frisk tightens her grip around the fish monster’s leg. She’s starting to look a little bit green around the gills.

            _Oooh boy,_ you think. _That’s not good._

Your sister is notorious for her motion sickness. Her record for longest drive without barfing is only ten minutes… and anything that so much as _looks_ like a carnival ride is completely out of the question. You bite your lip, wondering if there’s anything you can do to stop the rampaging fish lady… luckily, you don’t have to.

            “Ninety-nine… a hundred!” Undyne exclaims. She comes to an abrupt halt, and raises both fists triumphantly in the air. “I won! Sorry Twerp, but it looks like you’re gonna have to try harder next time.”

            Frisk shakily extricates herself from Undyne’s leg and dizzily walks away from her, one hand on her stomach, and the other pressed hard against her mouth. You barely register Sans confused look as you hurry over to her.

            “Frisk, what were you thinking?” you ask sternly. “That wasn’t a very good idea—you know how easy you get nauseous.”

            Frisk’s only reply is a whimper. You can’t bring yourself to scold her—not when she’s in such a miserable state. You sigh and gently rub her back, before holding her against you and sitting down with her.

            “Take deep breaths,” you remind her, allowing her to lean against you. “That’s right. In… and out… nice and slow.”

            Sans hesitantly walks over to the two of you, a concerned look on his face. When he reaches you, he stares at you uncertainly for a few seconds, before shoving his hands into his pockets.

            “Hey, uh… is she okay?” he asks. His gaze momentarily flits down to Frisk’s pale face, and nervous sweat drops materialize on his skull. “It’s not… anything serious, right? I mean, should I get Paps, or…?”

_Papyrus? Why would she need Papyrus?_ you wonder. It has you stumped… until you remember that strange, dream-like scene from the time you died. The image of your soul wrapped in orange magic is crystal clear in your mind, and it sends an unbidden shudder down your spine. _Oh, that’s right—Papyrus has healing powers._

            “(Y/N)?” Sans asks. His voice sounds uncharacteristically worried, and that’s more than enough to snap you out of your wandering thoughts. You glance up at him, and are somewhat taken aback when you see the flicker of blue deep in his left eyesocket. He looks like he’s about to go into full-out panic mode.

            “She’ll be okay,” you say quickly. “She’s just a little motion sick—she’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

            Sans doesn’t seem convinced.

            “Motion sick…? Are you sure it’s nothing serious?”

            “I promise,” you say, a small smile crossing your face. (Seeing him worry like this is kind of cute.) “Her eyes and her ears are just having a little bit of a miscommunication, that’s all. She’ll be back to normal just as soon as they sort it out. Right, Frisk?”

            Your sister groans quietly, but still manages to gives Sans an encouraging thumbs up. Sans carefully searches your face, and seems to relax when he sees how calm you are. The lights slowly return to his eyes, and he takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as the tension leaves them.

            “Well… if you say so,” he says uncertainly. You feel you should offer him more reassurances, but you don’t get the chance.

            “(Y-Y/N)!” a voice stutters. “T-There you are!”

            A familiar yellow-scaled monster hurries into view, her face breaking into a smile when she catches sight of you.

            “O-oh, and Sans is here too. Good—I’m glad you both could make it,” Alphys says, adjusting her glasses. “I was s-starting to think you got lost.”

            “Sorry about that,” you say, returning her smile. “I got kinda caught up in Waterfall—I wasn’t expecting it to be so pretty. Oh, and speaking of pretty… that dress looks really good on you, Alphys.”

            “What? You really think so?” she asks, sounding surprised. “Oh, good—I had a r-really hard time choosing between this and the polka dot one I showed you the other day.”

            “I think you chose right,” you say. “It shows off your curves.”

            You and Alphys break into excited girl chatter, which makes Sans start to look vaguely uncomfortable. You would try to include him in the conversation, but Alphys just started talking about the last few episodes of an anime she finished—you feel it would go right over his head. He eventually jerks his head towards Papyrus, silently telling you that he’s going to talk to his brother. You nod, giving him the go-ahead. He saunters away, leaving you and Alphys to talk about Kaichou Wa Maid-Sama.

            “Oh my gosh, Usui and Misaki are perfect for each other,” she gushes, taking a seat next to you. “When Misaki finally admitted her feelings, I literally _screamed_.”

            “I know! They took their sweet time getting there, though,” you say. “I mean, she was obviously in love—I can’t help but wonder why she kept denying it.”

            “Hmm…” Alphys hums thoughtfully, giving you a squinty-eyed look. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

            “Oh yeah?” you ask. “Who’s that?”

            “She’s someone that you’re very familiar with.”

            “Oh no… it’s not Frisk, is it? ‘Cause I don’t know if I’m ready for her to—”

            “Wrong. Try again.”

            “Well, besides you and Toriel, there’s no one else it could be. I don’t think it’s Toriel, and it’s definitely not you, ‘cause you already have a girlfriend…” you say thoughtfully. “Speaking of your girlfriend, when am I going to meet her? You go on and on about her sometimes, and yet I don’t even know her name.”

            A familiar light sparks in Alphys’ eyes at the mention of your girlfriend, and you can’t help but start to regret your choice of topic. When Alphys starts talking about her girlfriend, it’s near impossible to shut her up. (And you mean that in the nicest way possible—Alphys is the closest thing you have to a best friend.) Your mind wanders as Alphys begins to ramble about her girlfriend, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever talk about someone like that… with so much affection and enthusiasm. Your mind briefly flits in Sans’ direction, but it just as quickly shies away. 

            _He just thinks of me as a friend,_ you remind yourself. _We haven’t even known each other for that long—maybe four weeks, if even that._

You’d known Charlotte for years… and look how that had ended. You can’t help but grimace at the thought. It’s not that you don’t trust Sans. You do, with your life.

            You’d seen him at rock bottom, and he’d let you into parts of his life that not even his own brother knows about.

            He’d cried over your broken soul when you were dying.

            He saved you from Flowey, and then blamed himself for not being able to the first time.

            He loves to listen to you; whether that be talking, playing the piano, or singing.

            He smiles genuinely whenever he sees you, and you can’t deny the tap dance that your heart does whenever the two of you make eye contact.

            You might have started off as some kind of strange counselor, but look where the two of you have come since then. You drop by his house so often that he’s learned to expect you—he’s always sitting on the couch, ready to offer you a seat beside him.  

            But the fact remains… you’d trusted Charlotte, too. You trusted her in the same way that you trust Frisk, and yet… The trauma that she’d inflicted on you isn’t so easily undone. You aren’t going to walk into anything too quickly, no matter how much you want to—no matter how you feel towards him. If the two of you are going to get any closer… he’s going to have to convince you that he’s different. That this isn’t just going to be a repeat of eight years ago.

            And besides, you don’t even know if he feels that way towards you. Every time you think he’s doing something flirtatious, he always immediately does something else to make you think that it was just an accident. Like that one time, when he put his hand on your knee… only to pick a piece of hair off of you. Or when both of you reach for something at the same time, and end up touching. He tends to linger for longer than the situation would usually call for, but… well… you just don’t know.

            So, no. You, being the socially awkward and cautious person that you are, will probably end up being that one old lady that lives with her house full of cats. Well, maybe that’s not strictly true—you don’t think there are any cats living in the Underground (not including the sentient ones, of course). Fine. You’ll just take care of a colony of mice, instead.

            “I mean, unless you don’t want to,” Alphys says. Then she falls silent, as though waiting for a response from you.

            You blink, disoriented from all the time you’d spent sifting through your mind. You go to say something, only to realize that you don’t know what she was talking to you about. And when had Frisk left? Your lap is empty, and strangely light in her absence. A glance over towards your friends has her talking animatedly with MK and Sans—you think he may be telling them some of his party-related jokes. Your heartbeat quickens when you catch sight of him, and you have to put a lot of effort into refocusing on Alphys.

            “Sorry,” you say apologetically. “But, uh… can you repeat that?”

            Alphys smirks at you, and she looks away and takes an excruciatingly long time to push her glasses further up her snout. If she’s trying to make you anxious, it’s definitely working—you don’t like that… that _aura_ she’s giving off. She’s giving you this feeling that she’s about to talk about her OTP from Mew Mew Kissy Cutie.

            “Oh, (Y/N),” she says, trying too hard to sound neutral. “You’re so spacey…”

            You think (you hope) she’s going to leave it at that, but when she turns to look at you again, she has a crazed look in her eye. She giggles under her breath, and rubs her clawed hands together.

            “You’re thinking of a certain…” She hesitates for a moment, as if getting ready to gauge your reaction. “… _skeleton_ , aren’t you?”

            You flush instantly, and you have the urge to hide in the hood of your jacket. However, that’s unfortunately not a possibility—you’d left it at Grillby’s. So instead, you opt to ignore it. If you choose not to acknowledge it, maybe she won’t notice.

            “What? Psht—no,” you say, your voice a pitch or so higher than normal. “Ha ha—what makes you say that? I wasn’t thinking about him. I was just… uh… Frisk. I was thinking about Frisk.”

            “ _Him_?” Alphys asks, smiling as she pounces on your mistake. “Don’t you mean, Sa—”

            “So!” you exclaim, cutting her off. “What were you saying about your girlfriend?”

            “Aww, (Y/N), you really shouldn’t keep trying so hard to hide it,” Alphys says, ignoring your desperate plea for a change of subject. “Sans is your Usui—you two are _so_ cute together! I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way he calls you ‘Buttercup….’”

            “That’s just a nickname,” you protest.

            “Try _pet_ name,” Alphys corrects. “And if _that’s_ not enough, then there was that time he almost fought with Grillby over you—”

            “…What are you talking about?”

            “And when you two were in the woods that one time, and he let you cry in his arms—”

            “C’mon Alphys, that was private—”

            “And that time you nearly touched his soul—”

            “Just how many cameras do you have?! And why were you watching—”

            “And you always sing for him, even though you don’t want to—”

            “Alphys!”

            “(Y/N), you two obviously like each other. If you just told him, then maybe he’d—”

            “La la la la la laaaaa! I’m not listening!” you exclaim, making a show of covering up your ears.

            Alphys smirks at you again, but seems to decide to let up for the time being.

            “Okay, okay,” she says, holding her hands up in submission. “Fine, I won’t talk about it... for now.”

            Something about the look on her face assures you that the issue is going to come up again sometime in the future. If Alphys is determined about anything, it’s defending her ships. You take a deep breath, trying to bring your heart rate back down.

            “So,” you start, “what were you saying earlier? I’m sorry, but I was thinking about something else.”

            “Something that definitely _doesn’t_ involve Sans,” you add, noticing Alphys’ grin.

            “I was just saying that my girlfriend is actually here, at the party,” Alphys says slowly, obviously reluctant to change the subject so soon. “And that I could introduce you, if you want.”

            “Sure, that’d be great,” you sigh, relieved.

_As long as it doesn’t involve talking about my crushes, I’ll do anything,_ you add to yourself.

            “Okay. She’s right over—”

            “HEY YOU! You call that grilling hamburgers? THIS is grilling hamburgers!” a hearty voice yells.

            You and Alphys turn simultaneously to look at the speaker, and are just in time to see Grillby’s portable grill erupt with flames worthy of a bon-fire. Every single person at the party falls silent, and stares in disbelief at the monster whose hand is on the grill’s dial.

            “Oh d-dear,” Alphys mutters. She draws a hand across her face and sighs, before standing and hurrying over to the fish lady (who seems a little too excited at the height of the flames). Not knowing what else to do, you stand and follow her.

            “U-Undyne, you really shouldn’t turn the heat up that high,” Alphys says gently. She reaches up to place a calming arm on the fish lady’s blue arm, rubbing it to take the edge out of her words. “We’ve talked about this, remember? From that time you caused that explosion in the lab?”

            “Yeah!” Undyne exclaims, beaming down at Alphys. “That was fricking awesome!”

            “Undyne…”

            “C’mon Alphys, that guy was taking _way_ too long to cook them,” she says. “And I figured—why cook them on low heat for ten minutes, when you can do it on _max_ heat for one second?!”

            “Undyne, sweetie, that’s not really how it works…”

_…Sweetie? Wait. Is Undyne…?_ you wonder, putting the pieces together. _Strong, cool, passionate, former head of the royal guard… well, she definitely fits those criteria._

            It seems that Undyne is Alphys’ girlfriend. You’re somewhat surprised—you hadn’t expected Alphys to be dating someone with a personality so… different... from hers. You have to admit though, that they seem pretty cute together.

            On the other side of the grill, Grillby, completely unfazed by the intensity of the flames, is hard at work putting them out. He turns off the gas, and then… sucks them up, you guess? He kinda… absorbs them into himself, until there’s nothing left on the grill but a few little black piles of ash. When he sees you watching, he seems to sigh, and gives you a helpless shrug.

            “I was just trying to help, Alphys,” Undyne says. She seems a little bit put-out, herself.

            “I know sweetie, I know,” Alphys coos. “But… well… c-cooking isn’t really your strong suit.”

            “…Fine. I’ll PROVE to you that I can cook! You and me Flamehead—we’re gonna have a cook-off!”

            “U-Undyne! That’s not what I—”

            “Fine,” Grillby says, decisively adjusting his glasses. “What are the stakes?”

_…Grillby’s going along with this? Oh boy… this just got heated._

            A loose ring forms around Undyne and Grillby as the other guests’ interests are piqued. Undyne cracks her knuckles and smiles, leering in her opponent’s direction.

            “The winner gets to pick out the first party game,” Undyne declares, throwing her shoulders back. “And the loser… HAS TO BE PART OF THE CLEAN UP CREW! How do you like that, huh?!”

             “…Are you certain?” Grillby asks, crossing his arms. “For I am not likely to lose.”

            “Of course I’m sure! With my girlfriend cheering me on, there’s no way I’ll lose to you!”

            A tint of red enters Alphys’ scaled face at her girlfriend’s words, and she sheepishly rubs one of her arms. You feel a hand on your shoulder, and turn to see an achingly familiar skeleton at your shoulder. No matter how desperately you try, you just can’t ignore the thundering in your chest as his proximity to you.

            “My money’s on Grillby,” Sans whispers, grinning. “Unless Undyne goes first—she may end up breaking the grill, and winning by default.”

            “You’re too excited for this,” you say quietly, trying to beat back your smile. “I get the feeling Undyne is dangerous around fire.”

            “Oh, but that’s what makes it fun to watch,” Sans points out. You laugh quietly and then refocus on the developments between Grillby and Undyne. 

            “We will both make two hamburgers each,” Grillby states. “But who will be the judge?”

            “Judge? Why do we need a—”

            “I think F-Frisk would make a good judge,” Alphys says, quietly giving her input. “Frisk and Sans.”

            “A judge, huh? I dunno—don’t think I’m suited for it,” Sans says quickly, shifting uncomfortably at your side.

            “ _I_ think you’d make a good judge,” you say loudly, shooting Sans a mischievous smile.

_Finally, a chance to get back at him._

            “MmmHmm!” Frisk affirms, gently pushing him towards the two competing monsters. Sans shoots the two of you a look of mock betrayal, but reluctantly allows Frisk to force him towards the center.

            “Alright, Fireface—YOU’RE GOING DOWN!” Undyne roars.

            “Mmm!” Frisk exclaims, holding up her hands in a kind of “wait” gesture. She runs over to you and grabs your wrist, dragging you into the center of the circle.

            “W-wait a sec!” you protest. “Frisk, what are you…?”

            She picks up her whiteboard (which had been laying on the picnic blanket), and starts to scribble.

_“We need more contestants!”_ she says. _“I’ve got one volunteer—anyone else want to join?”_

            “A COOKING CONTEST? NEATO! I, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS, WOULD NEVER PASS UP ON A CHANCE TO COOK WITH MY FRIENDS!” Papyrus exclaims, trotting over towards the grill.

            “W-wait!” you stammer. “I didn’t—I don’t want to—I didn’t volunteer!”

            Frisk gently takes your hand, moves her bangs away from her face, and looks up at you. You try to stay strong against her puppy eyes, but they’re just too powerful for you. You could never say no to that face.

            “Fine,” you sigh. Then an idea pops into your head, and a wolfish smile crosses your face. “But I’m going to need some ramen and a pot.”

            “Ramen?” Sans asks, an understandable amount of confusion displayed on his face. “Like… ramen noodles? What for—aren’t you supposed to be grilling hamburgers?”

            Frisk squeaks with excitement and bounces on the balls of her feet. She knows exactly what you’re up to, and she can’t wait to see the result. You ruffle her hair, feeling that the judging panel may be stacked just a tiny bit in your favor.

            “You’ll see,” you say.

 

***

 

            After a few minutes of hard work behind the grill (and a few lower level explosions on the part of Papyrus and Undyne), all of the contestants have their entries done. You place your two completed hamburgers at the makeshift judges’ table (the presents on one of the plastic tables had been relocated to the picnic blanket), and then go back over to the grill to clean up after yourself. You pour out the leftover pot of boiling water into the nearby stream, and then get to work scrubbing down your section of the grill. Grillby is watching you with an approving look in his eye, apparently glad that he’s not going to have to do it himself.

            Excited chatter is drifting up from the ring that’s formed itself around your two judges, and you make sure you join them before the judging starts. You find a place next to Papyrus, and then take a moment to survey the competition’s entries. Even though you don’t know for certain which belongs to who, you can guess just by looking at them.

            The first pair is badly charred and crumbling, but they haven’t completely disintegrated yet—you can guess they’re Undyne’s. (The only reason she hadn’t sent them up in flames again was because Alphys had been lending her a claw.)

            The second pair can’t even be considered hamburgers. They’re actually clumps of charred spaghetti forced together to have a hamburger shape. You know that Papyrus really likes to cook spaghetti, but this is ridiculous.

            The third pair looks like they’ve been sent down straight from hamburger heaven. Each has a perfectly grilled patty, with an array of fresh vegetable toppings and an expertly buttered, lightly toasted bun. Your mouth is watering just from looking at it. You wouldn’t expect any less from the master himself, though—you figure his name is “Grillby” for a reason. (Actually, now that you think about it, who names their child “Grillby?” Maybe it’s just a nickname.)

            And finally, there’s yours. Beside Grillby’s little angels, they don’t exactly look like much—they’re definitely edible, but they’re somewhat plain and lumpy looking. However, your hamburgers have a hidden secret—one that your sister is sure to appreciate. (You can’t wait to see the look on Sans’ face, either. You’d been secretive when you were making it, so hopefully he doesn’t know what’s coming.)

            “Let the judging commence!” Mettaton exclaims, holding a microphone out in front of him. He’d made himself the unofficial umpire during the competition. His voice is kind of annoying to listen to for long periods of time, but you have to admit that he’s good at making interesting commentary. “Starting with entry number one—Undyne’s fabulous… uh… what did you say it was called again?”

            “I call it… THE PASSION BURGER!” Undyne roars. MK and Alphys cheer her on, the former bouncing up and down excitedly.

            “Entry number one, Undyne’s passion burger!” Mettaton exclaims, correcting himself. “This fabulous burger was made using the pent up energy and unbridled fervor of the former head of the royal guard! And what do the judges think?”  

            Frisk pulls an adorably disgusted face at the sight of the “passion burger,” but seeing the anticipation on Undyne’s face, she soldiers on. She takes a tiny bite of it, her face instantly screwing up as she has to resist the instinct to spit it back up. She swallows hard, and then gives Undyne an obligatory thumbs up.

            “Judge number one survived the encounter!” Mettaton exclaims, gesturing flamboyantly towards a wincing Frisk. “And judge number two?”

            “…Do I have to?” Sans asks, grimacing as he stares down at Undyne’s not-exactly-edible hamburger.  You stomach twists in sympathy for him, but it’s easily overridden by your amusement. This is fun.

            “YES, BROTHER, YOU MUST!” Papyrus calls. “I KNOW THAT IT MAY NOT BE AS GREAT AS I, MASTER CHEF PAPYRUS’, HAMBURGERS ARE, BUT IN THE SPIRIT OF COMPETITION, YOU SIMPLY CAN’T REFUSE—IT WOULD BE BAD SPORTSMANSHIP.”

            “C’mon bro…” Sans mutters, staring down at the black lump. He glances up at you, begging you with his eyes to help him out of this mess. You smile sweetly at him, and give him an exaggerated shrug.

            “It seems judge number two is afraid to taste the full extent of Undyne’s passion,” Mettaton notes, posing dramatically. “And we all know the technical term for that, folks—that’s right. Chicken!”

            He presses a button on his chest, and a very realistic gobbling sound emanates from his speakers. (He seems to be having a lot of fun with this.) Sans glares at him for a moment, but then lets out a resigned sigh, and picks up the rock-like burger. He makes a big show of shoving the whole thing in his mouth, all at once. It would be impressive… but you think you might have caught a hint of royal blue magic at the last moment.

            Your thought is confirmed a moment later, when there’s a soft thud on the ground behind you. You turn to examine its source, and aren’t really surprised to find a black rock. (Sorry, hamburger. Though burnt, it’s still technically a hamburger.) The rest of the crowd eats up the trick, though, and they utter a collective gasp at his uncharacteristic boldness. Even Mettaton seems a little bit humbled.

            “Urk—that was… huff… awful,” Sans mutters. He throws in a few retching noises for good measure.

            His performance is nearly believable. The only hint that it may not be real is his approval-seeking smile in your direction. You give him what he wants—a smile and a roll of your eyes, as per usual. His grin widens at your expression, and he kicks his fake retching up a notch. An onlooker might think that the burger is killing him. 

            “Oh my,” Mettaton says, an exaggeratedly awed expression on his face. “It seems the burger of passion was almost too much for him. Well, on to round two—the Great Papyrus’s miraculous… burger?”

            “This appears to be spaghetti,” he continues, examining the plates of burnt spaghetti (they’d completely lost their shape). Papyrus puffs out his chest with pride, and nods enthusiastically.

            “THAT IT IS! YOU OBSERVE SPAGHETTI THAT HAS BEEN EXPERTLY MOLDED INTO THE SHAPE OF A HAMBURGER. I CALL IT… THE SPAGHETTI BURGER!”

             “Well… I’m sorry, darling, but only hamburgers are being considered in this contest,” Mettaton says. There’s an unusually gentle tone to his voice, and the way he’s looking at Papyrus is somehow different than the way he looks at everyone else. More… genuine, maybe? Or open? You can’t quite put your finger on it. “And your entry… well, it doesn’t have any beef—or meat of any kind—in it. I’m sorry Pappy darling, but I’m going to have to disqualify you.”

            “OH…” Papyrus says, looking extremely disappointed. You feel like you need to comfort the skeleton, but once again, he’s surprisingly quick to perk himself up. “THAT’S OKAY! I’LL JUST ADD IT TO MY FOOD MUSEUM! I HAVE BEEN CONSIDERING CREATING A NEW PIECE FOR SOME TIME NOW… AND NOW I HAVE. IT ALL WORKS OUT.”

            “Thank you for understanding,” Mettaton says. “Now, on to entry number three! From the grill master himself…”

            The taste testing of Grillby’s burgers goes as expected. Frisk wolfs hers down without so much as stopping for air, while Sans just shrugs and says that it’s okay. (After eating at Grillby’s so often, you guess that it’s probably just normal for him.) With Grillby out of the way, that just leaves you.

            “And finally, last but certainly not least, entry number four!” Mettaton cries, pulling an incredibly dramatic pose. “(Y/N)’s never-before-seen secret recipe, brought to us straight from the surface…”

_He’s building it up too much,_ you think, wincing to yourself. _It’s not that special._

            “…the Mystery Burger!”

            The audience gives an appreciative “ooh,” and looks on with renewed interest as the judging recommences. Frisk beams at you and immediately starts munching, her burger vanishing within just a few heartbeats.

_“Did you make more?”_ Frisk asks you, her large brown eyes silently pleading with you. _“You did, right? Please say you did.”_

            You’d anticipated this. This specific type of burger is a kind of special treat for Frisk—you only make them on special occasions, because it takes so much more effort than the regular ‘ol store bought variety. You grin and point behind you, where there’s a steaming stack of burgers sitting beside Papyrus’s spaghetti sampler. She immediately leaves the judging table and runs over, snatching up a paper plate and going whole-hog with the extra burgers.

            “Hey, save room for cake, alright?” you call. She hesitates just long enough to nod in your direction, before going back to filling her plate.

            “Well, folks, it seems the birthday girl has already chosen a favorite,” Mettaton notes, watching as Frisk starts to stuff her face. “And judge number two?”

            Sans takes a hesitant bite of your hamburger. You watch him carefully, and have to hide a smile as his eyesockets widen in surprise. When he pulls back, you nearly choke with unexpected laughter—he has several strands of ramen noodle stuck between his teeth, and he doesn’t even seem to notice.

            “So _that’s_ what you wanted the ramen for,” he notes. “Well, you definitely get points for creativity, Buttercup. And it’s not half bad, either.”

            The noodles bounce along with his words. Someone in the crowd cracks up, and pretty soon, everyone is laughing along with them—even Grillby is chuckling. You try your hardest not to do the same, but by the time your eyes start to water with the effort, it’s too much for you. Your sides hurt with the force of your giggling.

            “What?” Sans asks, bewildered. You need all of your air to try and keep from blacking out, so instead of saying something, you point to your own teeth. It takes him a moment, but it eventually clicks. “…I have noodles in my teeth.”

            You nod, trying (unsuccessfully) to make your laugh attack subside. Sans’ cheekbones turn blue, but despite his embarrassment, he laughs good naturedly along with the rest of you. Then he goes to work removing the affixed noodles, conjuring up a bone to use as a toothpick.

            “Well,” Mettaton gasps, still fighting down his own laughter. “Beauties and gentle beauties, the judging is now over. Now, for the verdict. Judges, what do you say?”

            Sans opens his mouth to say something, but Frisk speeds over and interrupts him with a waving whiteboard.

            _“Everyone wins!”_ she says. _“Everyone did great—you too, Papyrus!”_

You notice that one of the “spaghetti burgers” has a bite out of it.

            “WOWIE,” Papyrus says, sparkles entering his eyes. “THANK YOU, FRISK.”

            Frisk smiles at him, and writes something else on her whiteboard.

            “ _Your spaghetti burger was actually pretty good,”_ Frisk says. _“But since everyone did their best, everyone wins.”_

“Wait, WHAT?!” Undyne exclaims. “But if everyone wins, then who gets to pick out the first party game? And who has to clean up the party?! C’mon, Punk, you’ve _gotta_ choose a winner!”

            _“Everyone has to agree on a game,”_ Frisk says. “ _And everyone has to help clean up. That way, everyone has to work together. That a good thing, right sis?”_

“That’s right,” you say, smiling to yourself. Your sister’s such a good kid—it’s moments like these that make her so lovable. “Let’s make it a team effort.”

            “Wha—but I was gonna _win_ that thing,” Undyne complains. Alphys makes a show of rubbing her arm sympathetically, but seems to be trying hard to hide a smile.

            “I’m sure you would have won, Undyne,” MK squeaks, trotting over to her. “You’re the coolest.”

            You tune out of their conversation to turn to Sans, who’d made his way over to you during the commotion.

            “Welp, that was fun,” he says.

            “It was,” you agree, choosing to ignore the hint of sarcasm in his voice. “It’s been a while since I’ve cooked something.”

            “I could tell,” he says, pulling a face.

            “Hey!” you exclaim quietly, fighting back a giggle. “At least I _can_ cook, unlike some skeletons I know.”

            “Are you making fun of my bro now, Buttercup?” he asks, a playful grin on his face. “Careful—you wouldn’t wanna get on the judge’s bad side, now would you?”   

            “Oh, I wasn’t talking about Papyrus,” you say. You put your hands on your hips and lean over slightly, making use of your one-or-two inch height difference so that you’re looking down at him. “ _He_ , at least, can make spaghetti. You, on the other hand… well, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you set so much as foot in the kitchen.”

            “I know it may be im **pasta** ble to believe,” Sans says, winking at you, “but I can make a pretty decent quiche.” 

            “Hmm… I’ll be the judge of that,” you say, smiling. “You’ll have to show me someti—”

            You’re interrupted by a familiar blue and purple missile. Frisk throws herself at you again, and it takes all of your strength to keep yourself upright.

            “Woah!” you exclaim. Then you chuckle and pull back a little bit, so you can get a good look at your little sister’s overly-excited face. “Alright, alright—what’s got you all riled up all of a sudden?”

            _“Goat Mom’s gonna cut the cake! Come on!”_

***

 

Sans’ Perspective

            Welp, that was, uh… unexpected. I definitely didn’t come to the kid’s birthday thinking that I would be asked to judge a hamburger grilling contest. But, y’know… it was okay. Sure, being the target of public mockery wasn’t fun, and I nearly took a bullet in the form of Undyne’s cooking… but in the end, it was worth it. I managed to make (Y/N) laugh. (And I mean _really_ laugh. She was laughing so uncontrollably hard that she looked like she was going to cry for a second there.)

            I absentmindedly move my cake around on my plate, distracted by the sight of a certain human. She’s over with her sister on the picnic blanket, trying to keep the kid from shaking her presents too hard. (After wolfing down her piece of cake, she won’t leave them alone.) The sight of (Y/N)’s easy smile makes my soul do somersaults from its place in my ribcage, and I have to turn my complete attention to my plate to try and distract myself. As much as I want to hog her attention, I should probably let the kid get in some time, too.

            I take another bite of the cake. I’m usually not a big fan of sweets, but this cake is an exception. I should really consider trying to get Tori to give Papyrus cooking lessons…

            “BROTHER!” a voice exclaims.

            _Speak of the devil._

“Hey, bro,” I say, carefully balancing my fork on the edge of my plate. “What’s up?”

            “I WAS COMING TO ASK YOU HOW YOU ARE LIKING THE PARTY SO FAR,” he says. He’s balancing his own piece of cake on the top of his skull, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “YOU SEEM TO BE ENJOYING IT!”

            “Yeah, bro,” I say. “You did a good job, helping to plan this thing. It’s great.”

            “I AM SO GLAD YOU THINK SO!” he exclaims, puffing his chest out. “AND THE FUN HAS ONLY JUST BEGUN! YOU SEE, WE STILL HAVE THE GAMES AHEAD OF US…”

            Paps waggles his bone-brows, and throws me an exaggerated wink. I’m… not sure what to make of that. I it were me, I would say that I was up to something; probably a prank. But this is Paps we’re talkin’ about. I shrug mentally, and decide that this would be a good time to deliver a good one-liner. Just the thought of Paps’ reaction is enough to make my smile grow a little wider.

            “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be great,” I say. “But we have to make sure we don’t have _too_ much fun—you know what they say about birthday parties, right?”

            “WHAT? WHAT DO PEOPLE SAY… WAIT. SANS—”

            “Having too many of ‘em can kill you.”

            Paps stares at me for a moment, before groaning and running a hand down his face. I chuckle quietly, taking another bite of cake.

            “SANS, WHY MUST YOU ALWAYS DO THIS TO ME?” he groans.

            “C’mon bro, that was a good one.”

            “ALL I WANTED WAS ONE, PUN-FREE DAY. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?”

            “Well, if you wanna get technical… that wasn’t really a pun,” I point out, my grin growing ever wider.

            “PUNS, JAPES, JOKES IN GENERAL!” Paps exclaims, throwing his arms up. The excessive movement unbalances the plate on his head, sending cake cascading down his face. Papyrus freezes, his arms still in the air as red frosting slowly drips off of his chin. His shocked expression is so perfect that I end up choking on my last bite of cake.

            “Hey, uh, bro?” I ask. “I think you’ve got a little something riiiight—”

Before I can finish my statement, he turns on his heel and marches off in the direction of the nearest stream. I hear a quiet laugh from over from the direction of the blanket, and turn to see (Y/N) looking in my direction. Her gaze flits towards the retreating form of Papyrus for a moment and then back over to me, a knowing smile on her face.

            That sight of that toothy smile makes my soul go nuts, but I force the sensation down, and offer her a shrug in return. She looks like she may come over and talk to me, but she’s quickly snatched up by Alphys, who drags her over towards Undyne. I try not to feel too disappointed, but the loss of her attention leaves me with a sinking feeling that I’m not sure what to do with.

            “Sans,” a quiet voice says. I stiffen, and try to hold back a groan as I find a certain nosey fire-elemental standing at my shoulder.

            “Hey, Grillbz,” I huff, not bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm. “What’s up?”

            He doesn’t say anything, instead giving me a knowing look and a raised eyebrow.

            “What’s with that look?” I ask, playing dumb.

            “…You still have not said anything to her,” he says.

            “Yeah,” I agree. I’m too tired of our bickering to get angry at his continued interference.

            I take a longer-than-normal amount of time to eat a bite of my cake, hoping that he’ll get the message and walk away. He doesn’t.

            “What’s your point?” I ask, barely covering up a sigh.

            Grillby doesn’t say anything, instead resting a flaming hand on my shoulder. He keeps it there for a few moments, and then he just… leaves. I stare at his back as he walks over towards Frisk, who’s still anxiously surveying her presents. Apprehension gnaws at me when the two of them start talking, but I’m not sure why. I’m just getting this feeling… like there’s something going on here that I can’t see.

            “Hey, is it time for presents yet?!” a child’s voice shouts. That little yellow monster kid rushes over to Tori, who’s somehow become the party’s unofficial overseer.

            “Hmm… I would say that that it is about time,” she says, pausing her conversation with Napstablook. “What do you say, my child?”

            Frisk squeals, jumping excitedly up and down from her place next to the stack of presents. She immediately grabs the topmost one, rubbing her hands along the creases in the wrapping paper to try and find any tape that she needs to take off.

            “Goodness, child—hold your horses,” Tori says. She gently taking the present from her, and sets it back on the pile. “Wait for everyone to get here, first. Gather around, everyone! Frisk is going to start opening her presents.”

            Once everyone’s gathered on the picnic blanket, Frisk wastes no time in ripping open her several brightly-colored boxes. And when I say ‘rip,’ I mean it—her vigor is almost alarming. (It’s a little too similar to Chara’s treatment of monsters in genocide runs.) Shreds of paper rain down on the assembled party goers like confetti, and by the time she’s done, the entire blanket looks like it’s covered in multi-colored snow.

            The kid is overjoyed with every single one of her presents. She seems to be having a hard time deciding which she wants to use first… I can’t help but smile when she picks mine. (Paps looks like he’s about to have a conniption fit, though.) She sits down amid the paper pile and immediately starts riffling through _“A Pun a Day Keeps the Boredom at Bay.”_ Hopefully, that joke book will improve her skills a little bit. If I have to sit through one more nonsensical knock knock joke… well, let’s just say that it’s not gonna be pretty.

            “O-okay, everyone!” Alphys exclaims, standing up. “I think it’s time we start on the p-party games. Right, Fr-Frisk?”

            The kid drops the book like it’s a hot coal, and jumps to her feet, nodding enthusiastically. Somehow, it looks like the kid is even more excited for the games than she was for presents—she’s so antsy that she can’t seem to stay in one place.

            “But who’s gonna pick the first game?” Undyne asks. “No one won the contest earlier.”

            “I think Frisk should,” Mettaton says smoothly, placing one hand on the kid’s shoulder. “It _is_ her birthday, after all.”

            There’s a general murmur of approval from the group, though Undyne is a little bit more reluctant about it.

            “I _do_ have a suggestion, though,” Mettaton continues. He quickly glances over at Alphys, and the two of them share some kind of look between them. Mettaton nods to himself, before crouching down so that he’s on level with the kid and whispering something into her ear.

_…I don’t like this._

            Whatever he tells her makes her eyes light up, and she instantly reaches for her white board. I steal a glance over at (Y/N), wondering if she has any idea what’s going on. She meets my eye, but she looks just as confused as I am.

_“We’re gonna do karaoke in pairs!”_ she exclaims. _“Mettaton’s gonna let us use him as our karaoke machine, so he’ll pick the songs…”_

            “But don’t worry, darlings—I’ll be participating, too,” Mettaton adds.

_“And I’ll pick and announce the pairings, since I can’t sing for obvious reasons.”_

_…Oh no._

            Dread washes over me. There’s no way I’m going to sing—I’d rather eat Paps’ entire spaghetti museum and then suffer the consequences afterwards.

_“We need an even number of people,”_ Frisk continues, _“So if anyone wants to sit this one out, there has to be an even number of you. If there’s an odd number, then everyone has to play. Anyone who doesn’t want to play, raise your hand.”_

I can’t raise my hand fast enough. Everyone in the group turns to stare at me, each with a varying amount of amusement displayed on their faces. Out of everyone here, I’m the only one that raises my hand. A single bead of sweat forms on my forehead, and then lazily makes its way down the side of my skull. The kid waits a few more moments, but no one takes pity on me. Even Napstablook and Alphys are participating.

_“Sorry, Sans,”_ she writes. _“Looks like you’re gonna have to participate.”_

            “Wait!” I protest. “C-c’mon, kid, don’t do this to me.”

            The kid actually has the gall to _smile_ at my discomfort. Any small hope I had at getting out of this activity are extinguished, and my hand falls limply by my side. Why does it seem like everyone is determined to see me squirm? At least (Y/N)… wait, never mind. She’s got this smug look on her face, as if this is exactly what she wanted.

            “Paps? Tori? C’mon guys, help me out here,” I plead, shoving my hands into my pockets.

            “BROTHER, THIS WILL BE GOOD FOR YOU,” Paps says. “YOU ARE ALWAYS SINGING IN THE SHOWER—I HONESTLY DON’T SEE WHY YOU’RE SO OPPOSED TO THIS.”

_Did he just say…? Oh, god, he did._

            Tori hides her face behind her hand, but the folds at the corners of her eyes betray her smile. From the corner of my eyesocket, I can see that (Y/N)’s in a similar position. Her hand is covering her face to hide her smile, and her shoulders are shaking with her barely restrained laughter. My face burns, and I have to forcefully beat down the urge to teleport back to Snowdin. There’s no way this can get any worse.

_“Okay. I’m gonna tell you guys’ the pairs now,”_ the kid writes, casting an evil grin in my direction. _“And they are: Undyne and Alphys, Papyrus and MK, Grillby and Toriel, Mettaton and Napstablook, and finally… Sans and my sis.”_

            It just got worse. Oh god, it just got _so_ much worse.

_I can’t—not with her—oh god, no._

            As everyone else gets up to find their matchups, chattering and excited about the upcoming event, I’m frozen in place, completely mortified by the idea of singing with (Y/N). (Y/N), with the voice that would put the angels themselves to shame. (Y/N), the one person whose opinion I care about. (Y/N), the one person that I… that I… My arms robotically move of their own accord, reaching for my hood and pulling it tight around my skull, completely hiding my face.

            “Sans?” an achingly beautiful voice asks.

            I retreat deeper into my hood, and shove my hands into my pockets.

            “Sans’ isn’t here,” I mutter. “He’s in hoodieville.”

            “…Is Sans going to come _out_ of hoodieville?”

            I don’t answer. I can hear (Y/N)’s clothes rustle as she shifts in place, and I can imagine that she’s nervously fiddling with her clothes, trying to figure out what to do with me.

            “Hey,” she says softly. “I… Well… if you really don’t want to do this _that much,_ then I guess…”

            She hesitates for a moment, and then sighs heavily.

            “…Then I guess we can both sit this one out,” she says sadly. “I was actually kinda excited to sing with you—I did say that if you got me to sing, you’d have to sing with me someday—but… if it really makes you that uncomfortable, then…”

            She trails off, and the moss under her feet makes a faint squishing sound as she taps her feet on the ground.

            “I guess… I’ll go let Frisk know,” she mutters.

            My soul twists in reaction to the disappointment that’s heavy in her voice, and I can’t help but feel a little guilty about the fact that _I_ caused it—especially when I’m always pressuring her to sing when she performs at Grillby’s. My hoodie loosens just a little around my head, giving me a hole just large enough that I see her through. Her face is soul-wrenchingly crestfallen as she slowly turns around, and starts to trudge in Frisks’ direction.

            Before I know what I’m doing, I take a step forward, and catch her by the wrist. She turns to look at me, and I can tell that’s she’s being careful to keep an artificially neutral expression. The sight of it makes my resolve weaken just a little bit.

            “Do you… do you really want to sing with me?” I ask quietly.

            When she had said that she had wanted to sing a duet with me, I hadn’t taken her seriously. But if this is something that she _actually_ wants me to do… well… I can’t say no to her. She doesn’t answer right away, and her eyes flit across my face as she tries to gauge my reaction will be.

            “I do,” she says quietly. “But if you don’t want to, I’m not going to force you.”

            She really knows how to guilt trip me. I’m not even sure if she’s aware that she’s doing it… but she knows exactly what buttons to push. After getting her to sing several times in front of a crowd, even though she clearly doesn’t want to… there’s no way that I can say no to her when she asks the same from me. Especially if she wants me to sing _with_ her. I take a deep breath, and slowly put my hood back down, steeling myself for what I’m about to say.

_Where’s the alcohol when you need it?_

            “Fine, I’ll do it. Just… just don’t laugh, okay?”

 

***

 

            The kid has a secret sadistic streak, I’m sure of it. Why else would she purposely make the two of us go dead last? I have to watch everyone else do near flawless performances, and it gives me ample time to imagine all the different ways I can screw this up. I could be off key, off beat, I could stumble over a word… the list is endless. I glance over at (Y/N), who’s completely absorbed in watching Alphys and Undyne’s performance. They’re singing the theme song to some anime, which is pretty predictable for the two of them.

            I don’t know how she does it. Not only does she sing, but she plays these extremely complex piano pieces at the same time. I mean, I know what it’s like to play an instrument. I do a little bit of guitar, and then I taught myself trombone (that was mostly for comedic value), but she takes it to a whole different level.

            I think she can feel my stare, because she shifts in her seat on the blanket and glances over at me. She gives me a gentle smile, and nudges me reassuringly on the shoulder. Even that simple contact makes my soul pound, which, on top of my nerves, makes me think it might burst if it pulsates any faster.

            “We’ll do fine,” she whispers, keeping her voice down.

            “That’s easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’re practically a siren.”

            “I’m not _that_ good,” she protests. “Besides, even if we do mess up, no one here’s gonna judge us. They’re our friends.”

            “I’m not sure I can do this,” I admit.

            “Well, neither was I, right?” she points out. “But I do okay, I think. And if I’m being honest with myself… I might even say that I kinda like it. I still get nervous… but I’m getting better.”

            She shifts towards me a tiny bit, brushing ever so slightly against me. Every place she makes contact feels like it’s on fire. It takes all of my self control not to lean into her touch.

            “I have you to thank for that.”

            If she keeps saying things like that, my soul’s going to explode. As it is, I have to look away from her so she doesn’t notice that my face is the color of an echo flower. I fiddle with the zipper on my hoodie, but when I notice I’m doing it, I make a conscious effort to put my hands on the ground. Instead of moss… I accidentally put my hand on top of hers. Her breath hitches, and I instantly snatch my own hand away again.

_Shit._

            I hadn’t meant to do that. My soul is pulsating so hard I’m half afraid it may actually phase out of me, and my face is so hot that I think I might give Grillby a run for his money. Luckily for me, I don’t have time to feel too embarrassed—Alphys and Undyne’s song ends, and Mettaton is already calling us up to the “stage.”

            I swallow hard and get up, following (Y/N) as she walks towards the center of the picnic blanket. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my bones from rattling. Mettaton offers us the two microphones that Alphys and Undyne had abandoned. (They’re wireless, and seem to connect to his speakers.) We take them, and I’m shaking so hard that I nearly drop mine.

            “So, what’s our song, Mettaton?” (Y/N) asks.

            “Oh, I’ve got the perfect one for you two, darling,” he says. “Have you ever heard of Drop Pop Candy?”

_For the love of—why_ that _song? Of all songs, why does it have to be_ that _one?!_

            “I have! It’s really popular up on the surface right now,” she says, sounding surprised. “But then how do you guys…?”

            “Someone found it in the garbage dump. How else, darling?”

            I can’t help but agree with whoever threw it away. It’s awful, and mushy, and I hate it. …Okay, that’s a lie—it’s catchy, and it’s been on my favorites playlist since the day I found it on the UnderNet. I even know the whole thing by heart.

            “Let’s just get this over with,” I sigh. “Which part do you want to take?”

            “Wow, even _you_ know it?” she asks. “That’s the mark of a true masterpiece right there—Sans knows it by name.”

            “Shut up,” I say weakly, glancing away. This was a _really_ bad idea.

            “Okay, okay,” she says, grinning. “I’ll take the harmony.”

            “…Why do I have to be the main part?” I complain under my breath. 

            “Are you ready, beauties? Because here. We. Go!” Mettaton exclaims.

 

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lPZyaNRiAg>

(Sans has Sans’ part, and you have Papyrus’s part. The bold is Sans, you're the normal text, and underlined text is when both of you sing.)

 

            When the music starts, I almost completely forget that I’m starting out the song. I rush into my first line, and I’m stuttering more than Alphys used to in front of Undyne. 

**“U-Umbrella at your side. It’s raining but you c-close it tight…”**

“And how are you, purred a cat just passing through.”

**“Those heels that you like are soaking, but is that alright?”**

            The sound of (Y/N)’s voice in harmony with mine is somehow… soothing. After the first few lines, I start to loosen up a little. My grip on the microphone relaxes just a tiny bit, and manage to keep myself from stuttering.

**“Let out a sigh for another day the same as the last,**

**Come on let’s try, dye it blue and change it up from the past,**

**Reflecting up from a puddle but then gone in a flash,**

**Is that the most that you could dream or wanted to see?”**

**“But look around,”**

“Dance up and down,”

**“The world is now,”**

“Still goin’ round,”

**“Just feel it pound,”**

“We’re skyward bound,”

**“Move at the** top speed of sound…”

            Even with my nervous mistakes, (Y/N) harmonizes my voice perfectly. I… kind of like it. I like it a lot, actually. This… isn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. My misgivings are slowly melting away, and as I enter the next part, I completely let go of my fears, and end up singing with the enthusiasm that I’d have when no one’s listening.

 

**“Running to another day, I wanna break away and take the leap,”**

“Do do do do,”

**“Buh duh duh, buh duh duh-duh-duh,”**

**“As you’re stuck on yesterday, no sun to rise would be okay with me~”**

“Do do do do,”

**“Every day, every day is okay.”**

**“Taking it step by step, we’ll always move ahead,**

**Our love is growing red, need me more, need you more~**

**You fall down seven more time, I’ll be there seven, eight, nine,  
As we keep trying, we’ll find—”**

“We’re always singing the same tune~”

            (Y/N) locks eyes with me and then beams, the brightness behind her smile sending my soul into a tizzy. Her gaze doesn’t leave my face as she goes into her part, and for a moment, I completely forget that we have an audience.

 

“Now falling to her side, the drops of rain that mix with light,”

**“Stealing a glance, hid a cat who turns his back,”**

“Their heads starting to sink, this boredom is too hard to fight.”

 

“Just spinning lies with the only thread of kindness we saved,

Or if we’re blind, and the truth is just a painting in grey,

Drowning us out, all the noisy drops that fall in the rain,

But fingertips traced every line, and opened my eyes~”

 

“I’ll paint it blue,”

**“I’ll play a tune,”**

“I’m wishing too,”

**“For something new,”**

“It will come true,”

**“With me and you,”**

“And then we’ll—”

“Finally break through!”

            As we go into the refrain, I’m starting to realize that I actually mean what I’m singing. I may not have written it myself, but I mean every word. I wonder… if she realizes that. She probably doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. Why would she? I’m too afraid of the future’s uncertainty to tell her. That thought causes me to mess up a line, and (Y/N)’s concerned look practically makes me melt on the spot. I love that she cares about me. …So why is this so hard for me, at the same time?  

 

“Cry to me, know that I care—lean on me, and I’ll be there,

As we keep trying we’ll find,

You’re always gonna be there, too.”

 

            It’s almost funny how well her part suits her. I’ve done nothing but lean on her since I met her, and what have I been able to offer her in return? Not much; nothing that would make up for the baggage that would inevitably come with being in any kind of relationship with me. I’m broken in ways that she still doesn’t completely understand—why should she have to pick up the pieces? It’s not fair to her.

            And besides… she could always be ripped away from me in an instant. Even though she controls the reset button, there’s always that chance that something could go wrong. That fear is what keeps me from being completely honest with her about my feelings. When the time came for me to harmonize with her in the last line, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It would feel like I was lying to her—there really is no guarantee that she’s going to be there. She must notice my slip, because for the rest of the song, she’s not as enthusiastic as she was before.

            We finish off the song okay, but I could tell that her heart wasn’t really in it. Neither is mine. The praise that we’re showered with seems far away as (Y/N) silently looks at me, a mildly confused expression on her face. She can always tell when I’m upset—this time is no different. The look in her eyes is asking me if something’s wrong. But I… I can’t bring myself to talk to her about it. Instead, I plaster on one of my fake smiles and slip away, giving myself some space away from the stifling happiness that comes from the rest of the group. Why can’t I just be like that? Why can’t I just be happy?

            A minute or so later, Frisk detaches herself from the others and rushes over to me, her never fading smile stretched from ear to ear.

_“Dunkle!”_ she exclaims. _“We’re going to play board games! C’mon!”_

            She never was one to read the mood—she’s completely oblivious to the fact that I’m not up to it. Unlike her sister, she’s not exactly empathetic. Oh, her sister. She can tell that I want to be left alone, and so she’s kept her distance from me since that song… but that doesn’t stop her from sending anxious glances in my direction. Her concern is practically palpable, even from across the room.

_“C’mon!”_ Frisk signs again. She doesn’t wait for an answer, and instead drags me over to the others. I don’t wanna upset her, so I go along willingly.

            For the sake of everyone here, I suffer through a few games, making sure my smile doesn’t slip. Out of everyone, (Y/N) is the only one that doesn’t buy it. We don’t say anything to each other, but she always manages to find a place next to me, at every single game, and continuously offers me her silent support. I… what did I ever do to deserve this? What did I ever do to deserve her friendship? She doesn’t even know what’s going on, and yet she’s there to help me if I need it. And I do need it. I need her here. I need her here, serving as a reminder that everything’s okay. That I’m still moving forward, and that there’s still hope.

            It’s not long before the party starts to lose steam. MK and Napstablook both excuse themselves and go home, and I feel like now’s a good time to follow suit.

            “Hey kid, I think I’m gonna go hit the hay,” I say, letting the kid know that I’m going. “You have fun, though, okay?”

            “WAIT, BROTHER!” Paps exclaims, hurrying over. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE JUST YET!”

            “C’mon, bro—it’s getting late,” I say. He knows it’s just an excuse. I stay up way latter than this on a daily basis. In fact, sleep is nothing but a luxury—that’s the curse of insomnia.

            _“You can’t leave yet,”_ Frisk agrees. I groan quietly, noting her trademark determined expression. _“There’s still one game left.”_

“Y-yeah,” Alphys agrees, scurrying over. “There’s just one m-more game. After that, you’re free to leave.”

            They’re ganging up on me. There’s no way I’m getting out of this.

            “Fine,” I sigh. “What is it?”

            “NYEH HEH HEH!” Paps exclaims. He’s grinning, and he’s got the strangest glint to his eye. I’m still not used to seeing that mischievous look on his face. “YOU WILL THANK US LATER, BROTHER.”

            _…I don’t like the sound of that._

            “EVERYONE! WE’RE GOING TO START THE FINAL GAME!” he shouts.

            Everyone rushes over, and Paps’ mischievousness is mirrored in on every single one of their faces. The only exception is (Y/N). She’s alive with nervous energy, apparently getting the same feeling that I am—that something’s going on here. My suspicions are heightened when Alphys pulls out a tin can filled with an assortment of popsicle sticks, and offers it to me.

            “Pick one.”


	20. Water-falling in Love With You (Part 1: Conflicting Emotions)

Your Perspective

 

            “Pick one,” Alphys says. She holds a can of popsicle sticks out to Sans, and watches him expectantly as he stares down at it.

            “…Why?” he asks.

            He’s clearly suspicious. So are you, actually—this whole setup reeks of mischief. If the fact that you’re drawing straws isn’t enough to convince you, your friends’ expressions definitely are. They’re all staring at Sans with undisguised anticipation, and no one else so much as asks for an explanation… almost as if they already know what’s going on.

            “J-Just do it,” Alphys says, holding the can a little bit closer to him.

            “Shouldn’t you at least tell us what the game is, first?” you ask.

            “O-oh…” Alphys says, glancing over at you. “I g-guess I’m getting ahead of myself, huh? O-oops.”

            She laughs awkwardly, twirling one of the popsicle sticks between her fingers.

            “Fr-Frisk, you’re the one that came up with it,” she says, directing the question to Frisk. “Do you want to e-explain it?”

            Frisk bounces up and down excitedly, and gives Alphys a bright thumbs-up. She doesn’t so much as pick up her whiteboard (confirming the fact that everyone else already knows what’s going on, as only you and Sans can understand sign language), and turns to you with a radiant smile.

_“We’re playing ‘Ultimate hide-and-seek,’”_ she signs. _“Or, as I like to call it… the SSS Game.”_

_…Ultimate hide and seek?_ you ask yourself. _SSS? I’m lost._

_“It’s basically the same as regular hide-and-seek,”_ Frisk continues, _“but there are two seekers instead of one.”_

            “That’s it?” you ask. “I don’t see what’s so ‘ultimate’ about it.”

            Frisk’s smile somehow manages to grow wider at your comment.

_“Well, there’s something else, too,”_ she signs coyly, _“but you have to choose a popsicle stick before I tell you what it is.”_

            That’s a red flag. Your sister rarely withholds information from you, so if she’s doing it for something as benign as a game of hide-and-seek… you figure that’s a good enough reason to put your guard up. You narrow your eyes, but beyond that, don’t do anything about your nagging suspicion. It’s your sister’s birthday—you can’t bring yourself to say no to her, no matter how fishy the game smells.

            “Fine,” you sigh, beckoning Alphys over. “I guess I’ll go first.”

            Alphys hurries over to you with barely contained excitement, practically shoving the tin into your face.

            “If you get a b-blue dot, that means you’re one of the two people that are seeking,” she clarifies.

            “Okay…”

            You reach into the tin, and, lo and behold, the popsicle stick you choose has a blue dot on it. Somehow, the fact doesn’t really surprise you. Nor anyone else, for that matter—there wasn’t any ‘oohs’ or any other exclamations of surprise… just knowing smiles. Well, with the exception of Alphys. She squeals in excitement, but quickly covers it up by clearing her throat. She gives you an awkward smile and nervously adjusts her glasses, before going back over to Sans.

            “Y-your turn,” she says, once again shoving the tin at him.

            “I’m not sure about this,” he says, his perpetual smile growing tight at the edges.

            “Come on Sans,” you encourage. “It’s just one more game. Besides, it may be fun.”

            “Y-Yeah! It’ll be really… _fun_ ,” Alphys echoes. Her statement, however, seems significantly more ominous than your own. Especially with the added effect of her crazed laughter.

            “Uh… Alphys?” you ask, a tiny bit concerned for your (seemingly unstable) friend. She promptly stops mid-laugh, and a pinkish tinge soon makes itself known on her scaly cheeks. She clears her throat again, and reoffers the tin to Sans.

                        “J-Just pick one,” she mutters, clearly still embarrassed—she’s staring at the ground, not even bothering to look and see what his result is.

            Sans, apparently realizing that he doesn’t have a choice, sighs and resignedly picks a popsicle stick out of the container. He studies it for a moment, before rolling his irises and holding it up for everyone to see.

            “WELL WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT?” Papyrus exclaims. “MY BROTHER AND (Y/N) ARE BOTH SEEKERS. WHAT AN UNFORESEEN, COMPLETELY UNPLANNED, AND ENTIRELY RANDOM COINCIDENCE!” 

            Frisk gives Papyrus a sharp look, her eyes going even squinty-er than normal. You’ve been subjected to that look enough times to know what it means. “Shut up.” Papyrus, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to get the message. He beams at your little sister, and gives her an exaggerated wink. Frisk groans helplessly in response, and facepalms. It’s adorable. 

            _Real smooth Papyrus,_ you think, cringing on behalf of your favorite cinnamon roll. _Real smooth._

“A-Anyway,” Alphys says quickly, desperately trying to draw Sans’ attention away from his brother, “now that we have our seekers, we can s-start the game.”

            “…Aren’t the rest of you going to draw straws?” you ask.

            “What’s the point?!” Undyne bellows. “We already have our seekers! Let’s just start already!”

            Undyne has been so quiet recently that the sudden loud noise startles you, making you jump. Your sudden movement, in turn, startles Alphys, making her drop her tin of popsicle sticks. The moment she realizes what happened, she swoops down to sweep up her fallen sticks… but not before you got a good look at them. Every single popsicle stick has a blue dot on it.

            _What in the world of Ira_ …? you think. _I can’t believe Frisk rigged… no, never mind. I can totally believe that. But why would she…? Actually, you know what? I’m just gonna roll with it._

“Okay, now what?” you ask, pretending you hadn’t noticed Alphys’ slip. Sans shoots you a surprised look, as though he can’t believe that you’re going along with it. (He’d noticed the rigged system, too—you could’ve seen his scowl from a mile away.)

            Instead of answering, Frisk runs over to you and takes your hand, before dragging you over to your seeker-in-arms. She shoves you next to Sans, so that the two of you are standing side-by-side, with only a few inches between you. You can feel your heart skip a beat at your proximity to him, but you stubbornly ignore it. Now isn’t the time for that.

            “ _Now… we play,”_ Frisk signs, a creepily eager smile crossing her face.

            Before you know what was happening, she whips something long and metal out of her back pocket, and attaches it to you. You shiver at the feel of cold metal against the sensitive skin of your wrist, and it’s only then that you realize what the object is. You go to protest, but the damage is already done—Frisk just finished fastening the other end around Sans’ own skeletal wrist.

            “Huh? Wait, wha—kid!” Sans exclaims. He stares down at the handcuffs with obvious alarm, and then jerks his arm up, as if testing their integrity. Your own arm is—inevitably—forced to follow his movement.

            “Woah!” you exclaim, taken by surprise. The chain of the handcuffs rattles as you strain against it, and its metal digs painfully into your skin as you pull the chain completely taut. “Fr-Frisk? Wh-what… what in the world…?”

            Frisk takes several steps away from the two of you (until she’s out of your reach, you guess), and then spins around to face you, that creepy grin still present on her otherwise innocent face.

_“I said that there was one other thing,”_ she reminds you. _“This is it. The two seekers have to search for everyone_ together _. And so, to make sure that you follow the rules…”_

            Frisk gestures towards your linked hands, and giggles at your obvious discomfort.

_“You get to wear handcuffs!”_

            You stare at your sister in utter disbelief, not entirely sure what to make of all of this. The whole thing is absolutely _crazy_ , and irrational, and _wrong_ in so many ways that your mind is having trouble processing it. However, through all of that, one thing sticks out to you—your sister is unexpectedly creative. _Diabolically_ creative. Oh, and resourceful. Where had she even _gotten_ the handcuffs?! Where you’re dumb struck, though, Sans is beside himself.

            “K-kid, get this thing off of me,” he says. He seems to be trying hard to stay calm, but his nervousness is easily betrayed by his voice. It’s shaking ever so slightly, and it’s just a tad higher than you deem normal. “Right now.”

            You have to agree. You don’t like this—not one bit. However, you know that there’s no way your sister’s going to let you go that easily. Not when she’d (obviously) spent so much time planning this. She shakes her head, and her smile transforms into more of a leer. Then she fished around in her pockets for a few moments, before holding up something for the both of you to see. It looks to be a small key; assumedly the one that goes to your handcuffs. It catches the light of a nearby echo flower as she playfully dangles it in front of the two of you, taunting you with the promise of your freedom.

_“I can’t just let you go,”_ she signs, the key temporarily disappearing into a curled palm. _“That’s your reward—you only get the key once you’ve found everybody.”_

            “Frisk, I’m _serious_ ,” Sans growls, his hands curling into fists. “This isn’t funny. Unlock us. _Now_.”

            _“No,”_ she signs. To emphasize her words, she jingles the keys right in front of him, mere inches away from his nose cavity. _“You have to find everyone first.”_

            Sans goes silent, his irises bouncing as they follow the keys in their dance. Then, without warning, he lunges for them. It was a good idea, and it may have worked, too… if he hadn’t used his left hand. The handcuffs go tight just inches before he would have reached them, and you gasp as you lose your balance. You trip over your own feet, and nearly careen into Frisk. Luckily, you’re able to catch yourself at the last moment.

            “Careful…” you mutter. Your warning goes unnoticed—Sans is too busy glowering at a certain birthday girl. Instead of giving in (which is what you would have done), your sister simply giggled and took another step back, still taunting Sans with the keys.

            “I’m warning you, Frisk,” Sans says, his voice dangerously low. “If you don’t let me go, _right now_ , I’m going to _bust_ my way out of these things.”

            And he means it. You turn to look at him, and you can’t help but be a bit unsettled when you find traces of blue in his eyesocket. You don’t really understand why he’s so up-in-arms over this. Yes, the handcuffs are an inconvenience. Yes, they’re weirding you out. But they aren’t really doing any harm, right? All they’re meant to do is guarantee that the two of you are close to each other, something that probably would have happened anyway. (You can tell that something’s wrong with Sans, and you don’t want to leave his side until he tells you what’s up.)

            So, then, what’s the problem? Is it the handcuffs themselves? A psychological reaction to the loss of control? Stress? The party _has_ been going on for a long time—maybe he really _is_ just tired, like he’d said. Or maybe… maybe it really _isn’t_ the handcuffs, after all, but the idea of being handcuffed _to you_.

            Maybe he doesn’t want to spend time with you. Maybe you’d made him angry with you. You bite your lip, hoping with all your heart that isn’t the case. Did you do something? Was it something you said? Oh, you bet that it’s probably because you forced him to sing with you—

            “Look, kid,” Sans says, taking a deep, shuddering, breath. “Please, be reasonable—we didn’t sign up for something like this. Right, Buttercup?”

            Oh, you’d been so _stupid_. It was blatantly obvious that he hadn’t wanted to sing. I mean, he’d even retreated into his _hoodie_ , for god’s sake. Why had you forced it on him? You’re such an _idiot_. Sure, he’d looked like he was having fun for a little while, but then there was that one line, and then for the rest of the song… this was an awful idea. You should have never have come to this stupid party in the first place. It’s been nothing but a complete _disaster_ —

            “…Buttercup?” Sans asks, sounding uncertain. He glances over at you for a moment, before returning his gaze to the still-dangling keys. Then, as if realizing something, he does a double take, and studies your face more closely. Whatever he sees instantly wipes all traces of irritation from his face, and his magic quickly splutters out.

            “Hey…” he murmurs, “what’s wrong?”

            He instinctively goes to touch you, his non-cuffed hand reaching out for your face. He hesitates just moments before he would have made contact, and instead of landing on your cheek, his hand finds a new home on your shoulder.

            “Is everything okay?” he asks you softly.

            “Y-yeah,” you stammer, looking away. “I’m fine.”

            You’re clearly not fine. You’re upset. And confused. Sans keeps sending you contradicting messages, and it’s starting to mess with your head. One minute, you think that he has feelings—like _romantic_ feelings—towards you. But then the other… it seems as if he’s intentionally putting distance between the two of you. It’s gotten to the point where you have no idea how he really feels, and it’s… well, it’s kind of depressing. All those romance novels you’d read were right. Love hurts.

            Sans goes silent in the face of your denial, but doesn’t press you. You feel his hand leave your shoulder, and when you eventually look at him again, you find that he’s put as much space between the two of you as possible. The chain of your handcuffs are pulled taut between you, and he’s back to staring at the keys in Frisk’s hands. As if… they’re the only thing that matters. That stings. You’d thought that it had been blatantly obvious that you wanted him to dig deeper, to show you that he cares about you… but it seems all he wants is to get away from you.

            Your heart sinks just a little bit deeper into your irrational sadness, and you can’t bring yourself to care about this stupid game anymore. If Sans’ doesn’t want you there, then what’s the point? …You just want to go home.

_“Well, Sans?”_ Frisk asks. She seems a little more solemn than she had before, and she keeps sneaking worried glances over in your direction. It seems that _she_ , at least, noticed your sorry emotional state. _“What are you going to do?”_

            “I…” Sans trails off, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. You think you see his head jerk ever so slightly in your direction, as if he were going to look at you… but he restrained himself from doing so. He hesitates for a few more moments, and then sighs heavily. “…Fine. It’s not like I really have a choice, right?”

            Frisk instantly perks up, and claps her hands together.

_“Great!”_ she signs enthusiastically. _“There are a few other rules: we can hide anywhere inside the Waterfall boundaries, and nobody can use magic. That means you, Dunkle. No magic.”_

            “…You’re killin’ me here, kid,” Sans mutters, not exactly enthused.

_“That’s about it,”_ Frisk finishes. _“Are you ready?”_

            “No,” Sans says, answering for the both of you.

_“Well, too bad! Close your eyes and count to fifty.”_

            “Fifty? Why fifty?”

_“Just do it!”_

            “Alright, alright. They’re closed.”

_“You too sis,”_ Frisk signs. You can barely see her hand motions—your eyesight is too blurry.

            Alarm visibly flashes across your sister’s face when she notices your watering eyes, and for the first time since announcing this game, she seems uncertain. She glances over at Alphys, as though she’s searching for support. Alphys, however, doesn’t even notice your sister’s reassurance-seeking look. She’s too busy staring at you, her shock obvious in her wide eyes and slightly agape mouth. Her reaction is mirrored almost perfectly on every single one of your friends’ faces—none of them have ever seen you cry before.

            Seeing them so worried only makes you feel worse. You’re a comforter, a counselor. You’re always there to help others out when they’re distressed; to take their burdens—their _pain_ —onto yourself, so that _they_ can feel better. It’s what you do. Heck, your very _soul_ is made for that purpose. Why else would your core trait be empathy? In their eyes… that makes you strong. You’re an unshakable rock, someone that they can depend on to be sturdy if they need to lean on you. You’re not supposed to break down. Or, at least… not like this. Not for your own selfish reasons.

            And if you think about it… there’s not really anything for you to be upset about. You’re being irrational, and over-emotional, and you know it. You’re not even entirely sure what caused you to feel like this in the first place. But despite all of that… you can’t help what you feel. Your tears threaten to overflow as shame and embarrassment are added to your original distress.

            You grit your teeth and weakly tug on your handcuff, desperate to get away from the searching looks of your friends. That’s what you always do. When you’re upset, or angry, or scared, you always run away. No one is supposed to see you when you’re like this. You’re like an emotional mechanic. And what good is a mechanic, if they can’t fix their own car?

_“Sis…?”_ Frisk asks, taking a step towards you.

            You need to get your act together, and fast. You blink back your tears, and give your sister the largest smile you can muster.

            “I bet we can find all of you in less than ten minutes,” you drawl, putting your free hand on your hip. Your sister is extremely competitive. If there’s _anything_ that will make her forget all of this, it’s a challenge. As predicted, it works like a charm. She stops dead in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she considers your statement.

_“Waterfall is_ huge _,”_ she signs. _“It’ll take you at least an hour.”_

            “Nah, kid—we’ll do it in five,” Sans pipes up.

_“Sans, you’re supposed to have your eyes closed!”_

            “Whoops, sorry— ** _eye_** couldn’t help myself.”

            Papyrus lets out a frustrated cry in the background, which manages to make you feel a tiny bit better. It also gives you the opportunity to sneakily wipe at your eyes—Papyrus had just launched into a rant about the evils of pun-based humor, drawing everyone’s attention away from you.

_“Let’s get started already,”_ Frisk signed, impatient. _“Close your eyes!”_

            “But kid, I technically don’t have any,” Sans points out. Frisk goes silent, staring at Sans with an unreadable expression on their face. “Therefore, I can’t exactly close them. **_Iris_** my case.”

            Frisk immediately dissolves into giggles, and Papyrus goes ballistic. For once, Sans actually made a good pun. On any other day, you would have been in stitches. Today, however… you just aren’t in the mood. You manage to plaster a tight smile onto your face (for Frisk’s sake), but beyond that, the joke may as well have fallen on deaf ears.

_“Dunkle! You know what I mean!”_ Frisk signs between giggles. _“Come ooooon!”_

            “Okay, okay. **_Eye_** ’m doing it. **_See?_** ”

            Frisk is laughing so hard that she’s having a hard time standing up. You, however, aren’t amused. You want to get this over with, so you can go home and sort out your conflicting emotions with a tub of ice cream and a comfy blanket.  

            You pointedly close your eyes, and slowly start to count to fifty.  

            “One… two… three…”

            By the time you get to six, all conversation in the clearing has vanished, to be replaced by the sound of rapidly fading footsteps. You listen closely, trying to keep track of where they’re going (you want to find them as quickly as possible). However, Waterfall’s echo-y nature makes it impossible—they all sound as if they’re going everywhere. (It’s very disorienting, actually.)

            “…Fifty.”

            When you open your eyes again, you find yourself completely alone. Without the cheery babble of your friends’ voices, Waterfall has once again fallen into its normal state of peace and serenity. The quiet sound of rushing water helps you calm down a little bit more, and as you pause to listen to it, you find yourself letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The last few minutes had been… intense, to say the least.

            “So…” Sans says slowly. “They’re gone.”

            “They’re gone,” you agree, your relief obvious in your voice. After your simple statement, the two of you lapse into an awkward silence. You’re content to keep it that way—you don’t really have anything to say to him at the moment, and you’d rather be left alone for awhile (as alone as you can be, seeing as you’re handcuffed to him).

            “…Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, now?” he asks.

            Anger surges through you at his words, and you clench your jaw to keep from saying anything rash. See, this is what you meant about being sent contradicting messages. He was just desperate to get away from you, and now he wants you to confide in him?!

_Fat chance._

            You huff belligerently and ignore his question, instead moving to take a step forward. You’d expected Sans to follow you, so you’re caught by surprise when the chain between your handcuffs goes taut, stopping you dead in your tracks.

            “We need to get going,” you mutter, refusing to look back at him.

            “Woah, hold your horses,” he says. He tugs gently on the chain that connects you to him, as if telling you to come back. “Not until you tell me what’s going on with you.”

            “We’re wasting time,” you state, your voice clipped and carefully devoid of emotion. “The sooner we find everyone, the sooner we can get these things off. Then we can both leave this stupid party, and go our separate ways. That’s what you want, right?” 

            Sans hesitates, trying to read between the lines.

            “…Is that what this is about?” he asks quietly. “The handcuffs?”

            “Yes and no,” you mutter. “Just—I—it doesn’t matter. Come _on_.”

            You insistently pull on the chain, but Sans doesn’t budge. (Who knew it would be so hard to force a skeleton—who should logically be significantly lighter than a human—to move?)

            “Not until you let me into that head of yours,” he insists, his voice firm. “You were almost _crying_ earlier, (Y/N). What am I supposed to do, ignore it?”

            “If that’s what you _want_ , then yes.” 

            “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

            “I—you—argh, just forget it!”

            You continue to strain on your handcuffs until Sans reluctantly gives in, sighing heavily as he falls into step beside you. As the two of you fall silent, your anger with him slowly fades away, leaving you feeling… exhausted. Pure and simple. Your conscious mind still hasn’t managed to grasp your reason for being angry in the first place—you figure it was just a reaction to all the drama that you’ve been put through today.

            “So…” you say eventually. “Where do you think they could be? You know your way around this place a lot better than I do.”

            Sans doesn’t answer.

_Great, now I’ve made_ him _mad._

            “Maybe we can check—”

            Your chain goes taut again as Sans suddenly stops. Your breath catches in your throat as your arm is nearly ripped out of your socket, and you start to topple backwards…

            “Woah!” he exclaims. He rushes forwards, and catches you moments before you would have hit the ground. “Got’cha.”

            “Thanks,” you mutter. Your heart is beating hard in your chest from the contact with him, but you’re equally annoyed with him. Hadn’t you said to be careful? You quickly free yourself from his grasp, and go to keep walking…

            “(Y/N).”

            You stop, but don’t turn around. You can feel that strangely resilient anger bubbling under the surface again, and you’re trying hard to keep it under control.

            “What?” you ask, your voice measured.

            “Look, I… I-I care about you, y’know?”

            Your heart skips a beat, and everything—even your breath—goes completely still. Is he saying… what you think he’s saying? You look over your shoulder at him, a spark of hope lighting somewhere deep within you. Maybe… maybe today would end on a good note, after all.

            “You’re one of my best friends.”

            That spark instantly dies. Of course, how typical of him—yet another contradiction.

            “I don’t like seeing you upset, and I… I’m here, if you ever need a shoulder to lean on. Just like you’re always there for me. It’s not just a one-way thing.”

            You can’t believe him. How _dare_ he? Your jaw clenches as you try to bite back a sharp remark. You’re starting to realize just why you’re so angry with him all of a sudden.

            “I can’t help you, if you don’t tell me—”

            “Wow. That’s rich, coming from you,” you interject, your voice icily calm.

            “I… what?”

            Your hand tangles in the chain of your handcuffs, and you squeeze until your skin aches. It’s a good feeling—it helps to keep you anchored.

            “The whole ‘I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me’ thing. The ‘It’s not just one way’ thing. That’s so… heh, you’re such a hypocrite, lecturing me about the importance of communication.”

            “A hypocrite?” Sans asks, his voice rising. “I… why would you say that? What did I ever do to you?!”

            “What, do you think I’m blind?!” you cry, spinning around.

            Angry tears are starting to burn in your eyes, and you grit your teeth against the waves of hurt and betrayal that are washing over you. The anger that you’d sensed gathering in Sans completely abates at the sight of your tearing eyes, and he’s left looking dumbstruck. Does he really have no idea what caused this?

            “What? No, of course not! (Y/N), please, just tell me what’s wrong, and we can talk this through—”

            “That’s just it, Sans!” you snap. “I don’t know! I don’t know what’s wrong! I know that there’s _something_ wrong, Sans, and that it’s been bothering you for a long time… but you refuse to talk to me about it!”

            Sans’ voice catches in his throat, his irises vanishing into the empty void of his eyesockets. You take a moment to gasp for air, as your outburst had taken whatever you had left. As soon as your lungs recover, you continue, your tears spilling rebelliously down your cheeks.

            “And here you are, telling _me_ that I should be more open? Ha! You weren’t _open_ when you broke down at Grillby’s that one time. You flat out lied to me.”

            Sans flinches, and looks away.

            “What, you thought I didn’t notice? Sans, I’ve been lying to my sister for over eight years now—I know a lie when I see one. And then, there was that whole thing between you and Grillby. I just _love_ how you glossed that one over.”

            Sans looks like he’s trying to melt into his hoodie.

            “Over the past week, there have been _dozens_ of times where you avoided questions, or purposely skirted issues. And then today, it all just kinda blew up! I don’t understand why you got all depressed in the middle of _Drop Pop Candy_ , of all songs, and then there was the whole thing with the handcuffs! I’m not exactly enthused about them either, but if you _hated_ the idea of being stuck with me _that much_ , you could’ve just said so, and I would’ve boycotted this whole fucking game with you!”

            You fall silent for a moment, putting a hand to your forehead and breathing hard. There it was. The root of the issue. It wasn’t just today—he’s been hiding something from you since he first introduced you to Grillby. You think you have a fairly good idea of what it is… but that’s not good enough. You want _him_ to be the one to explain it to you.

            “…That’s not it,” he mutters. He studies the glowing grass beneath his feet, unable to look you in the eye.

            “Well, I’m not psychic, Sans!” you exclaim. “I can’t read minds, okay? Yes, I’m good at telling how a person feels. Can I immediately tell why? No! You have to _talk to me_.”

            “…I really like having you around, (Y/N). Don’t ever think otherwise,” Sans murmurs, fiddling with his own handcuff. “In fact, I dunno what I’d do without you.”

            “Then what—”

            “I just didn’t wanna be _alone_ with you,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

            At first, you don’t know what he means. Then, as his face starts to glow the same shade of blue as the grass beneath his feet, you understand. Sans makes an effort to look up at you, and you think you catch the slightest hint of desire in those irises of his, buried underneath mountains of restraint and caution.

            And, just like that, all of your uncertainties; all your fear and anxiety… it all completely melts away. You were right all along. He loves you. Even more than that, some part of him _wants_ you. There’s just… something that’s holding him back. You still aren’t sure what that is—there’s more that he hasn’t told you—but the relief that you feel from this one small victory is enough for you to let the matter drop.

            You take a shaky deep breath, and start to wipe away at the moisture on your face.

            “Thanks, Sans,” you murmur, your voice hoarse. “I really needed to hear that.”

            “I… I still haven’t told you everything,” he mutters, opting to look at a distant crystal instead of at you.

            “I know,” you sigh. “But that’s okay.”

            He looks at you so fast that his spine cracks.

            “But…”

            “Tell me when you’re ready,” you say. “I want to know, but honestly… I don’t think I can handle much more emotional junk right now. Just look at me—I’m a teary mess.”

            “Heh. Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s been a long day.”

            “One thing after another,” you say sagely.

            You sniff, and clear the rest of your tears away. Then, something occurs to you.

            “Oh! I didn’t get to tell you earlier—everything was moving so fast, I never got the chance to really talk to you,” you start. “Your singing was amazing, Sans! I don’t know why you were so nervous.”

            “W-what?” he stammers, looking a little flustered. “No. C-c’mon, you’re just sayin’ that.”

            “No, really,” you say. The sight of the skeleton’s intensely glowing cheekbones makes a small smile cross your face. “You were great, and I loved singing with you. We should do it again sometime. Well, you know… only if you want, of course.”

            “I…” it takes him a moment, but he eventually manages to gather his thoughts. “I’d… like that.”

            You’re glad that whole argument is behind you. Your smile widens at his words, and he sheepishly returns it. He goes to rub the back of his skull (something that you’ve long since classified as characteristic Sans behavior). However… he unfortunately uses his left hand to do it. (You’re starting to think he’s left-handed.)

            Your handcuffs go taut again, and you’re suddenly pulled forward. You squeak as you find yourself flush against Sans, forced into an unplanned embrace. Sans goes completely still, except for a single, involuntarily shudder. You’re so close to him that you can actually _feel_ it as it travels the length of his body. …You think your heart’s about to explode.

            The two of you stand like that, perfectly still, for what feels like an eternity. You seem to be at an impasse—neither of you pull away, but neither of you move to hug the other properly, either. It’s only when Sans takes a deep, shuddering breath that the spell is broken. The awkwardness of the situation finally known to you, heat rushes to your face, and you move to take a step backwards…

            “Wait,” Sans croaks, his voice unusually husky. His free arm snakes around your back, and he pulls you back against him. You don’t resist, and allow him to hold you close. Your heart is thundering so hard in your chest that you think that he may be able to hear it.

            “Sans?” you ask uncertainly. This is uncharacteristically forward of him.

            He doesn’t make an attempt to answer your unasked question, and instead rests his mandibles on your shoulder. He lets out a shaky sigh, and the feel of his breath against your ear sends a shiver down your spine. Encouraged by the physical contact, you absent-mindedly start to run your free hand along the back of his skull. You’ve always wanted to do that. His skull feels smooth and soft beneath your fingertips, and you smile as Sans shudders at your touch. Then a ragged moan escapes from him, and his phalanges tangle in your shirt as he somehow manages to hold you tighter. His grip seems… desperate, somehow. Like he’s afraid you may disappear if he lets you go.

             “Sans?” you ask again, growing a little bit concerned. He’s trembling, and that’s never a good sign. Sans flinches at the sound of your voice, and quickly wrenches himself away from you.

            “D-did I…? Oh geez. I-I didn’t mean—shit,” he stammers, drawing his hood up. He’s trying to hide his face, which at this point, is just a few shades away from looking like a giant blueberry. “I’m sorry, I-I swear I didn’t mean to—”

            He doesn’t finish his statement. Instead, it’s _his_ turn to try and get away from _you_. He takes a few hurried steps deeper into waterfall, but he’s stopped short by your handcuffs. Again. (You’re beginning to realize why Frisk put them on you in the first place.) He huffs in frustration, and strains uselessly against them, as though they’ll come off if he wishes hard enough.

            “Hey, Sans,” you say quietly. He flinches again, and you can see just the slightest hint of a white iris as he looks at you from the corner of his eyesocket. You open your mouth to speak, but you end up closing it again. You can feel your face heat up, and stare at the ground as you continue. “I, uh… liked that. You don’t have to apologize.”

            If you don’t start dropping hints, this whole almost-but-not-quite nonsense is going to go on forever. Sans stares at you, apparently having a hard time digesting what you said.

            “You… did?”

            “Yeah.”

            He continues to stare at you, his cheekbones so bright that you can actually see his face from within the shadows of his hoodie.

            “…Oh.”

            That’s all he says. His irises don’t leave your face, and the two of you simply continue to stare at each other, neither of you sure what to do next. Eventually, it gets to the point where it starts to become awkward. You cough, hoping to break the silence, and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

            “We should probably start looking for them,” you say quickly.

            “Y-yeah,” Sans agrees, his irises finally shifting away from you. “Heh. We’ve uh… probably overshot our five minute goal, huh?”

            “By a landslide.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>            Hee hee~ We're getting close, people! In the words of Frisk, the SSS Game--the Sans/Sis Ship game--has begun! You may have noticed that I'm giving you another two part-er. Well, that's because there was so much I needed to squash into this thing that I couldn't do it all at once. (The chapter would've been another 40+ pager, and honestly, I'd rather not do that again.) So, I tried to let you down easy by making it less of a cliff-hanger... but I know you're all still gonna be frothing at the mouth to know what happens next, so I'll try to be on time this time around. (Don't worry, I have an entire trans-Atlantic flight I can use to work on it! Next time I update, it'll be from the states.)  
>           Anyway, this chapter turned out unintentionally angsty. I mean, I had this whole thing planned out, and a giant argument on Reader-chan's part definitely wasn't a part of it. (I guess that's what I get for listening to "Crossfire" on repeat while I'm writing. Note to self: listen to something happier next time around.)
> 
> \--Zana


	21. Water-Falling in Love With You (Part 2: I Promise)

 

Sans’ Perspective

 

            We haven’t found anybody. We’ve searched, and we’ve searched, and we’ve searched… and yet we haven’t found a single soul. I know Waterfall is big, but this is ridiculous. We’ve already checked every single place I can think of, including the hidden alcove behind that one waterfall. And yet… nothing. Nada. Zilch. We haven’t even found _Paps_ , and he’s the kind of guy that thinks that hiding in his closet makes him invisible. I’m starting to think this whole thing is some kind of elaborate setup. I should’ve known. Especially since my bro—the king of unnecessary complexity—helped plan all of this.

            Though I guess I haven’t really been tryin’ my hardest. Being handcuffed to (Y/N) is extremely… um… _distracting_. My soul is currently in the middle of an escape attempt, and I can’t go so much as two steps without feeling the urge to check and make sure she’s following me. (Which is stupid, since she literally can’t be more than two feet away from me, with these handcuffs.)

            I can’t really say I’m surprised, though. This weird need I have to be around her is pretty much my new normal, and I’m starting to learn how to deal with it. Or… I thought I was. Oh geez, I’m such an _idiot_ —I should have seen that coming! She has an empathetic soul—of _course_ she noticed I was acting weird. But whenever she brought it up, what did I do? I brushed her off. Over, and over, and over again. I pushed her away. I shouldn’t be surprised that she blew up like that—I practically lit the fuse for her.

            And after we’d kinda resolved the issue, what did I do? I hugged her. No, I _clung_ to her. Sure, it started out as an accident, but the instant she got close to me, I latched onto her like some kind of needy _kid_. I can’t believe I… this is… I sigh, and absentmindedly watch the moss pass by underneath my feet.

            This is _torture_. I want so badly to be close to her, but there’s always _something_ that gets in the way. My stupidly irrational fears are constantly holding me back, and whenever I _do_ manage to get past them, I somehow manage to screw everything up. …Just like I did a few minutes ago. After that whole argument thing, (Y/N)’s pretty much gone silent. The only words that have come out of her mouth since I let go of her are to ask me where we should go, or if I’ve found anyone.

            Even now, all we’re doing is walking along in silence, supposedly looking for our friends. I steal a glance over at her, only to find that she’s looking in the other direction. To her credit, she looks as if she’s _legitimately_ keeping an eye out for the others, but there’s something about her body language that tells me that’s not the whole story. I know that she said that she liked it when I held her… but…

            All of a sudden, the silence between us becomes stifling. I _need_ to hear her voice. I _need_ to know that I haven’t upset her. I scramble to find a conversation topic, trying to come up with something, _anything_ , that’ll break the silence that’s formed between the two of us.

            _…When did I ever start to care this much?_

The thought comes out of nowhere, and stops me dead in my tracks. Before I’d met (Y/N), I would never have cared about something like this. Something so small, so insignificant. Unless it involved Paps, I didn’t really care about _anything_ —much less any single person. If I insulted anyone, what did it matter? It would all be reset anyway. And even if it didn’t… I figured that _they_ probably didn’t really care, either. I was just a blip on the infinite radar of the cosmos—just an average Joe, who happened to tell the occasional joke to hide his crushing depression. I would ultimately be forgotten; whether it was caused by a reset, or just worn away by the good ol’ passage of time.

But now? Somehow, all of that’s changed. I may not care what _everyone_ thinks—I’m not completely healed of my trauma yet—but her opinion of me… it’s literally the most important thing in the world to me. Just the _thought_ of unintentionally hurting her, in any way, is sending me into a tailspin.

            “Sans?” (Y/N) asks, glancing uncertainly back at me. The chain on our handcuffs is pulled taut, and (Y/N) is gently straining against them. I was so deep in thought that I didn’t even notice that I’d stopped walking. “Sans, is everything okay?”

            “What? Oh, heh—yeah,” I say quickly, rushing forward to catch up with her. “I’m fine.”

            The two of us keep walking, but she’s not looking for the others anymore. Instead, she’s staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face. It’s kinda freaking me out, actually. What if I upset her again? Then, as nervous sweat drops start to form on my forehead… she dramatically raises an eyebrow. If it were anyone else, that wouldn’t mean anything to me. But coming from her… geez. She really does have me wrapped around her little finger.

            “I was just thinking,” I reluctantly elaborate. I know I wanted to find a conversation topic… but this wasn’t really what I had in mind.

            “What about?” she asks.

            “…Nothin’ important,” I mutter. (Y/N) gives me a weird look, and makes a disappointed sounding hum.

            “I see,” she deadpans. She doesn’t say anything else, and looks away. The silence quickly follows.

_Oh no, not again. C’mon Sans, you’re losing her—talk about something else! But what do I… a pun! That’s your specialty. Tell her a joke, and make her laugh. That’ll sweep all of this awkwardness under the carpet. Ooh, she’s sure to like this one._

            “Uh… hey, (Y/N)?” I ask. She glances over at me, a questioning look on her face. “What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?”

            “Ignorance is when a person doesn’t know something. Apathy is when someone _does_ know something, but doesn’t put the knowledge into practice because they don’t want to,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

            Wow. She sounds like she read that directly out of a dictionary.

            “Uh… just say ‘I don’t know,’” I tell her. She blinks in confusion, and her head cocks ever so slightly to the side. It’s a cute little tick of hers.

            “Oh, so this is a joke?” she asks, breaking into a small smile.

            “Yup. Now let’s try this again,” I say, mirroring her smile. “What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?”

            “I don’t know,” she says.

            “…And I don’t care.”

            She stops walking, and her smile completely vanishes. She’s giving me this really intense look, and for a minute, I think that I might’ve said something wrong. But then… she starts giggling.  Her hand automatically flies to her mouth, and she seems to be trying hard to hold back... but it doesn’t really do her much good. Soon, her laughter is echoing all throughout Waterfall, carried along by the echo flowers dotted along the pathway.

            “Oh my gosh,” she gasps. “Sans! That—that’s just—oh my gosh.”

            “I knew you’d like that one,” I say with a chuckle. “It had your name written all over it.”

            “Oh yeah?” she asks innocently. “What makes you say that?”

            I go to answer her, but then a particularly bright echo flower catches my eye. It’s sitting alone in the middle of the pathway, directly in front of us—almost as if someone had intentionally planted it there. Its convenience is almost too perfect… and seeing it gives me an idea.

            “You know what? I’ll let the flower tell you.”

            “…What?”

            I don’t answer, and instead kneel next to the flower. (Y/N) squeaks in surprise as she’s forced to bend over (darn it—I keep forgetting about these handcuffs), but she seems more curious than annoyed. Her attention is encouraging, and I take a breath and cup my hands around the flower. I’m careful to whisper when I tell it my joke; it’s supposed to be a surprise. When I’m done, I stand back up, and give (Y/N) space to crouch next to it… but she doesn’t do anything.

            “Um… I’m lost,” she says, giving me a confused look. “Did you just whisper something… to a flower?”

            “Yup.”

            “…Why?”

            “C’mon, I can’t just tell you! It wouldn’t be any fun if I did that,” I say. I try hard not to, but I end up smiling mischievously anyway. I can’t wait to see the look on her face… I wish I had a camera. “Just touch one of its petals, and see what happens.”

            “Well, um… if you say so,” she says uncertainly. She shuffles over to the flower, and carefully crouches next to it. As she goes to touch it, though, the meaning behind my little jape suddenly registers with me.

            _Oh geez—what was I thinking?! I can’t say that!_

            “Wait!” I exclaim. I instinctively jerk on our handcuffs, and pull her hand away from the flower moments before she would have touched it. She gasps in surprise, and then shoots me a sour look as she ends up falling onto her rear. I cringe at her expression, and nervous sweat drops instantly form on my skull.

            “U-uh… on second thought... let’s just forget about it,” I stammer. “W-we’d better keep looking, right? If we don’t find the others soon, we might never get these things off.”

            I go to keep walking, but (Y/N) doesn’t budge. When I look back at her, she’s studying me with a creepy grin on her face.

            “Ooh, you shouldn’t have said that,” she says. “Now I’m curious.”

            We stare at each other for a full three seconds before her grin widens, and she reaches out for the flower…

            “W-wait—don’t—”

            _“Some girls are smart, and some girls are sweet—but somehow you’re both, and it’s really a treat. You’re such a smart cookie.”_

As my voice is lazily emitted by the echo flower, my face has plenty of time to transition from chalk white to aquamarine. And for good reason. (Y/N) has gone completely still, and even when the echo flower stops, she doesn’t move to get up.

            _Oh god, that was a mistake._

She continues to stare at the flower for what seems like an eternity. And then, eventually… she slowly turns to look up at me. I brace myself for the worst, expecting some kind of ‘that’s a horrible pun Sans,’ or maybe a resigned glare. However, the expression that’s on her face is the last thing I expected. She looks almost… bashful? She has this cute pink tinge to her cheeks, and she’s twirling her hair around one of her fingers.

            “Do you really think I’m sweet and smart?” she asks quietly.

            “…Would it be a bad thing if I did?” I ask uncertainly.

            She stares at me for a few seconds, and then starts giggling.

            “Why in the world would that be a _bad_ thing?” she asks, smiling at me. “That was really sweet of you, Sans.”

            I can actually _feel_ the temperature of my face rising at her words. I swallow hard, and try my hardest not to look as darn flustered as I feel. It obviously doesn’t work very well, because (Y/N) is still staring at me, and her smile is only growing wider.

            “We should probably get moving,” she says, a flash of something mischievous in her eyes. “If this keeps up, we’re going to be stuck out here all night.”

I get the feeling that she wanted to say something else, but she’s purposefully cutting me a break. She gets to her feet, and starts walking again. Not knowing what else to do, I follow her.

            We end up falling into another silence. This one, though, isn’t as tense as the first—it’s more… I dunno... amicable? At any rate, it doesn’t bother me nearly as much. I make an extra effort to look for our friends this time around. ‘Cause she’s right—if they really _are_ out here, we’re going to end up searching all night if we don’t pick up our pace.

            “You don’t think they could be in the water, do you?” she asks eventually. She’s studying a lightly glowing pond, and seems as if she’s about ready to jump in.

            “I seriously doubt it,” I say quickly, gently pulling her away from the pond’s edge. “Let’s stay away from the water, okay? I don’t wanna be soaking wet on top of everything else that’s happened today.”

            “But where else could they be? We’ve already checked everywhere else you could think of, and I’m starting to run out of ideas, here. I’m getting desperate.”

            “Well, we haven’t looked everywhere yet, I guess… but **tibia** honest with you, I’m starting to think that this whole thing was pointless to begin with,” I say tiredly.

            “Yeah, that’s the feeling I was getting, too,” she sighs. “Frisk sucks at hide-and-seek—if she were actually hiding, we would’ve found her by now.”

            “Paps too,” I agree.

            “Well, in that case… now what?” she asks, glancing over at me. “We’ve been at this for hours. Should we just give up and head back?”

            “Yeah,” I sigh. “I dunno about you, but I’m **bone** tired.”    

            (Y/N) giggles a little at my pun, and as always, rolls her eyes along with it.

            “Arlighty then. Lead the way,” she says. “If you haven’t noticed, I have an awful sense of direction.”

            “Oh, I’ve noticed all right,” I say cheekily, leading her back the way we came. “Remember that time you got lost in the MTT department store?”

            “Oh geez, not this again,” she complains. “You’re always holding that over my head—”

            “I can’t believe you actually asked the guy at the lost kid station to call me over the intercom—”

            “I left my phone at home!”

            “That was _hilarious_. And then there was that time you got lost on your way to Snowdin—”

            “That was barely three days after I fell down here!”

            “Oh, and how could I forget that time that you accidentally—”

            “Sans!” she exclaims, playfully shoving my shoulder. “C’mon, at least spare me that one!”

            “Alright, alright,” I say, winking. “I’ll just have to save it for later, when we have an audience.”

            “Saaaaans!”

            She’s so easy to tease, and I love doing it. Her embarrassment is adorable, and always manages to make me smile. Oh, and then there’s that look she gives me when she doesn’t understand something—she somehow manages to look like an awe-struck puppy. (Yes, I do know what that looks like. The Undernet can be a wild place.)

            Suddenly… I get an idea. There’s one place in Waterfall that (Y/N) hasn’t seen yet, and it’s arguably the most beautiful spot in the entire region. Yeah, I’m tired, and I want to go home… but the thought of her face when she sees it is enough to make me get over my laziness.

            “Hey, (Y/N),” I start, “do you mind if we take a little detour?”

            “A detour?” she asks. “What kind of detour?”

            “Oh, it’s nothing special—just a cool little spot that I’d think you’d like,” I say coyly.

            “Oh yeah?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if Mr. Lazy doesn’t mind going out of his way, then it must really be something special.”

            “You could say that,” I agree, giving her one of my extended winks.

            “Well then… let’s go!” she exclaims. “My feet hurt, but I don’t mind a little bit more walking—especially if it’s with you.”

            “Alright then. It’s settled—wait a sec. What was that last part?” I ask. I couldn’t have heard her right. (Y/N) sighs quietly, and looks me straight in the eye. She’s smiling, but there’s a seriousness to her gaze that’s… kind of unnerving.

            “I _said_ … ‘especially if it’s with you,’” she repeats slowly.

_…Does she mean it in the way that I think she means it?_

“Now… what were you saying about showing me something?” she asks.

              _No way. That can’t be it—it’s too good to be true. Nothin’s ever gone right for me before. Why would this?_

“…Sans?”

            _Does she… does she like me? Like…_ like _like me?_

I take a moment to think about it, searching for anything that I may have missed before, or written off as purely platonic. The first thing that comes to mind is all of the times that she let me hug her. Even a casual friend might find a hug awkward. But she never so much as complained about my clinginess. In fact… she always hugged me back, and she always seemed happier when she eventually pulled away. And then there was that one time that she let me hold her when she cried…

            She always seems to be looking in my direction, and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve caught her with a blush on her face. For some reason, I’d always thought that it was because of embarrassment. But now… I’m not so sure that’s all it is.

            She’s always there for me, and she’s constantly worrying over me. She’s spends an unusual amount of time hanging out with me, and seems to really enjoy my company. I don’t even spend that much time with Grillby, and he’s the person that I consider to be my best friend.

            The thought of Grillby brings back memories of the first time I’d brought her to his little hole-in-the-wall. When Bun-Bun had latched onto me, (Y/N) had looked about ready to punch her. I’d thought that she was just being protective of me, but looking back on it… that actually looked a bit like jealousy. And later that day, when I accidentally let slip that I wanted to kiss her, she’d become a blushing mess. Why would she have done that if she didn’t like me? She would’ve taken it as a joke.

            Even today, there’s been one example after another of her having feelings for me. When we were still at Grillby’s, I told her that I would never miss one of her concerts. She turned as red as a tomato, and literally ran behind the piano to hide her face. All throughout the party, she’s stuck by my side. She encouraged me when I needed encouraging, but backed off when she knew that’s what I wanted.

            And even if all of _that_ isn’t enough to convince me… there’s one fact that completely seals the deal. (Y/N) had literally come back from the dead… _for me._

_“You don’t remember. He… he killed you, (Y/N). I… I couldn’t save you,” I choked out._

_“But you did save me,” she murmured. “I heard you… and I held on for you. I’m not going to let you lose anyone else, Sans. I promise.”_

            If that doesn’t prove that she has feelings for me, I don’t know what would. And if that’s true… then I really am a clueless idiot. All along, it had been clear that she likes me. And yet I somehow managed to overlook all of that, and completely wrote off all the obvious signs. And if _she_ had been that obvious about it… what exactly does that say about me? Oh geez—no wonder she was upset with me. It had been blaringly obvious that I liked her. I mean… the way I’ve been acting wasn’t exactly… low-key. She knew all along and all this time, she’s been waiting for me to outright tell her. I had opportunity after opportunity, and as I kept letting them pass by, she probably started to get frustrated, and…

            “Sans!” (Y/N) exclaims. I’m in such a daze that her voice surprises me enough to make me jump. “Hey, are you sure everything’s okay? You’re really spacey all of a sudden—and that’s usually _my_ thing.”

            “Y-yeah,” I say quickly, shaking my head to try and clear it. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

            “Let me guess—you’re thinking about nothing again?” she asks cheekily. “I know you’re a skeleton and all, but I can’t believe you’re really that… **empty-headed**.”

             I blink, and stare at her in something akin to awe.

            “Did you… just make a pun?” I ask. (Y/N) giggles at my slack expression, and mimics my signature extended wink. The sight of it almost makes my soul seize.

            “I dunno… did I?”             

            “Oh my god, you did!” I exclaim. I smile so hard that my cheekbones hurt, and clap (Y/N)’s nearest shoulder. “I never thought I’d see the day… I’m so proud of you! Welcome to the dark side, Buttercup.”

            “Don’t get used to it,” she says, chuckling. “That was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You’re never going to hear me make another intentional pun. Ever.”

            “Oh, we’ll see about that,” I say, waggling my bone-brows. She stares at my forehead in fascination, completely mystified by the excessive movement. 

            “Y’know, I never got around to asking you—how do you do that?” she asks.

            “Do what?” I ask innocently. Have I said that her curious face is really cute? No? Well, it’s really cute.

            “Make your forehead move like that,” she elaborates. She reaches out and gently runs her hand along the place my eyebrows would be. Her touch sends a shiver down my spine, and sends my magic rushing to my face. “It feels pretty solid. It’s just bone, right? So then how do you get it to make so many different expressions?”

            I barely register her question. I’m too busy trying to keep myself under control—it takes all of my focus to keep from leaning into her touch. In fact, if it were up to my soul, I would probably start acting like Lesser Dog does after too many drinks. (In other words, I’d start begging her to pet me.)

            “Sans?” (Y/N) asks.

            “U-uh…” I stammer.

_What were we talking about, again? Oh, right. The mysteries of skeletal biology._

            “Magic,” I manage. “That’s really all I can tell you.”

            “That’s your answer to everything,” she complains, drawing her hand back. I sigh in relief as she breaks contact—I don’t think I could’ve held back for much longer. This is getting to be ridiculous. She likes me, and I like her. Why am I still trying to hide it like this? “Oh, and I’m still confused about the whole stomach-in-my-closet thing.”

            “The stomach-in-my…?” I echo confusedly. “What’re you… oh. Oh yeah—you’re talking about that thing that Paps said weeks ago. You actually remembered that?”

            “Of course! And it’s been bugging me ever since. Where does food go after you eat it?” she asks. “And don’t you dare just say ‘magic.’”

            “Curious, are we?” I ask, chuckling. “Alright, I’ll tell you while we walk, okay?”

 

**(Discussion Skip)**

 

            “…So you guys have magic stomachs that appear when you eat something, turn food into magic, and then disappear?” she asks me, completely flabbergasted.

            “Yup.”

            “And they’re… uh… detachable?”

            “Yup.”

            “And so when Papyrus said that he keeps his in his closet…”

            “He meant that literally,” I say, confirming her unspoken suspicions.

            “But… if he eats food in one place, how in the world does it end up in his closet!? I don’t get it.”

            “Now _that_ , I can’t explain. So… magic.”

            “That is _so weird_ ,” she says, pulling a face. “You do realize how little sense that makes, right? Like… it just… why?!”

            “I dunno,” I say. “I’m afraid that’s one of the universe’s mysteries—only someone on another plane of existence can give you the answer to that one.”

            “That’s not really an answer,” she says. “But anyway, where do you… uh… keep _yours_? I mean… if you don’t mind me asking.”

            “Oh, I just keep it where it would normally go, and carry it around with me. Paps thinks that it gets in the way like that, but I personally think that it makes a pretty damn good travel pillow.”

            “…I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that,” she says slowly, a look of astonishment on her face. “But, uh… at least now I know why a certain skeleton I know manages to look tubby—he has a ghost gut.”

            “Yup. Wait. Did you just call me… _tubby_?” I ask, raising a logic-defying bone-brow.

            “Maaaaaybe,” she drawls.

            “Hey! That’s not very—”

            I’m interrupted by a very well-aimed poke to the gut. I choke on my last word, and then end up emitting something that’s half laugh and half undignified snort.

            “Huh. So there really _is_ something under there, after all,” she teases, grinning mischievously at me.

            “H-hey, w-wait a second—”

            She pokes me again, and I instantly dissolve into uncontrollable laughter. A light dusting of pink spreads across the bridge of her nose at the sound of it.

            “Sans, you’re ticklish?!” she exclaims. “Oho—now I can finally get you back for all those times that you messed up my hair.”

            She wiggles her fingers theatrically in the air, and takes a slow step towards me. I’m quick to take a step away from her, my face burning at the mere _thought_ of her touching me like that.

            “U-uh,” I stammer. “No?”

            _…Why did that sound like a question?!_

(Y/N) giggles at my uncertainty, but nevertheless allows her hands to drop. She turns away, scanning the horizon.

            “Alright, alright,” she says. “Enough of that—are we getting close to this place you want to show me?”

            I take an (annoyingly) shaky breath, and gratefully latch onto her proposed change of subject.

            “Yeah. It shouldn’t be too long now,” I say. “Y’know, I could always just teleport us there, if you’re tired.”

            “You heard Frisk—no magic,” she says, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face.

            “Oh come on, are you really going stick to the rules after all of this?”

            “I don’t really care about the rules,” she admits. “I just… well… I like spending time with you.”

            She glances away as her face starts to turn red, and absentmindedly smoothes down her hair. I had wanted to say something… but all thought of what it was has completely vanished from my mind. I’m left just… staring at her, trying to process the meaning behind what she’d just said. I’m still not used to the idea that she actually likes me. 

            “…Oh.”           

            That was a really stupid thing to say, but… well… that’s all I could come up with. My face is still blue, and it’s showing no signs of turning white any time soon—my soul is too busy trying to find its way out of my ribcage. The two of us fall into another companionable silence, and it may just be my imagination… but I think she’s walking a lot closer to me than she was before.

            I’m about to shrug the thought off—I’m probably just being hyper-aware of her, like always—but then… her hand brushes against mine. I instantly tense up, but somehow manage to keep from giving away any other sign that I noticed the contact.

            My mind is screaming that I should pull away. This is dangerous, and there are so many ways it could end badly. I could have completely misread all of this. I could get too attached, and then something could happen that takes her away from me. Chara could make a reappearance. I could end up hurting someone else—maybe I end up hurting Paps’ feelings by confiding in someone else, or the kid gets jealous of the attention her sister is giving me. There are just so many ways this could go wrong—so many variables that I have no control over.

            But… I can’t go on like this forever, either. All I have to do is _think_ about her, and my soul ends up going crazy. Every moment that I’m with her, I have to keep myself in a careful state of restraint, just to ensure that I don’t do anything stupid. Being just friends with her isn’t really an option anymore. I don’t think I could take it, feeling this way day in and day out, and never saying anything to her about it.

            Suddenly, I remember something that Grillby told me.

            _“In this matter and others, you are simply too afraid of failure to take decisive action—I have seen it time and time again. You do not like to show your hand until you are absolutely positive that the cards are in your favor… and while I admit that strategy will keep you from making a bad bet, it also means that you will be sitting at that same table, immobilized, for as long as your uncertainties remain unresolved.”_

            He’s right. He’s always _been_ right. I’m stupidly cautious about things like this. But that’s just the kind of person I am—I need to be sure that I’d be doing the right thing by confessing my feelings to her. However, that being said… I think I’m about ready to show her my hand. I’ve almost got a metaphorical royal flush. The only card I need is the elusive queen of hearts.

            I glance down at the “queen’s” hand. It’s still gently brushing against my own, swishing back and forth in time to her footsteps.

            _Okay… here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to hold her hand. If she pulls away, I won’t say anything to her, and I’ll quietly die inside. Then I’ll get over all of this stupid love nonsense, and get through life as an eternal bachelor. And if she_ does _let me hold her hand… I’ll tell her how I feel. Today. When we reach the castle overlook._

I watch her hand move back and forth a few more times, trying to gather my courage. It shouldn’t be that hard. I’ve watched all my friends and family die. Now _that_ was scary. After living through something like that, something as simple as holding (Y/N)’s hand really shouldn’t be intimidating me this much.

            After almost a full _minute_ of staring at our barely-touching hands, I finally work up the nerve to do it. I take one final, deep breath… and then take her hand in my own. Wow… her skin is so soft… Just this minimal amount of contact is enough to make my soul go nuts. It’s pulsating so hard that I swear I can hear my ribs cracking. And if I were to look at myself in a mirror, I’m pretty sure that my face would look like some kind of giant blue light bulb.

            (Y/N) flinches when I make contact, and for a moment, I think she’s about to pull away. But then she relaxes, and a happy-sounding sigh escapes from her. She moves a little bit closer to me and then readjusts our grip, intertwining her fingers with mine own. The feel of her skin against mine sends a flash of warmth through me, and for a moment, I feel as if everything is right with the world.

 

**There it is—I have my queen of hearts. Now all that’s left… is to finally show her my hand.**

           

Your Perspective

 

            All of your hard work has finally paid off. You’ve been dropping hints left and right since your outburst earlier, and it seems Sans has _finally_ gotten the message. You smile down at your joined hands, the significance of the gesture making your cheeks hot. Finally, after all this time, he’s making a move on you. Now, all that’s left is for him to tell you, point-blank, how he feels. (Your more pessimistic side thinks that it might be a while before that happens, though—if it took you three weeks to get to this point, it’ll probably take another three to entice him into taking the next step.)

            But that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters… is that you made it. You extended the olive branch, and you finally got him to take it. The feel of his phalanges intertwined with your fingers is just so… _right_ , somehow. You would have thought that holding a skeleton’s hand would be uncomfortable, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. His bone is smooth and warm against your skin, and a thrill speeds through you as he absentmindedly runs his thumb along the back of your hand. You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment.

            _This is perfect._

After a few more minutes of silently enjoying one another’s company, Sans nervously clears his non-existent throat. You look over at him, to find that he’s still stubbornly staring in the other direction. You can’t help but smile at his blueberry cheekbones—he’s so cute when he’s flustered.

            “W-we’re uh… almost there,” he mutters.

            “Aww… already?” you whine playfully. Sans chuckles quietly, apparently starting to get over his nervousness. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, and then turn to look ahead of you.

There’s not really anything there that’s interesting. Well, okay—there’s a really old looking statue. But beyond that, the hallway is fairly uneventful. Just grey, and empty. However, if you strain your ears… you think you can hear the distant sound of splashing water.

            “I hope you don’t mind getting a little wet,” Sans says, noticing your eyes widen.

            “…What?”

 

***

 

            You and Sans are walking through a relatively large cavern, rain cascading down on the two of you from above. Or, it would be, if Sans weren’t holding an umbrella over the two of you. (He’d been kidding about getting wet, much to your relief.)

            Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re trying to puzzle out how it could be raining Underground… but you aren’t thinking about it too seriously. You’re too occupied enjoying the feel of Sans’ hand in your own. The lack of physics in the Underground seems unimportant, especially considering how close to Sans you are right now. The two of you are almost touching—it was the only way both of you could fit under the umbrella.

            “So, is this what you wanted to show me?” you ask, looking around.

            It’s definitely a beautiful spot—the rain has pooled into several mirror-like puddles on the ground around you, and they reflect the Underground’s ‘stars’ so perfectly that you almost appear to be walking through the cosmos themselves.

            “Not quite,” he says, turning to look at you. “It’s even better than this.”

            “Oh really? It must really be something, to beat out walking on stars.”

            “You could say that,” he says mysteriously.

            “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what it is?”

            “Nope,” he says, breaking into a smile. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

            “You and your surprises,” you sigh dramatically. “You just _love_ to keep me in suspense, don’t you?”

            “Yup. You’re cute when you’re curious,” he says. Then he blushes and quickly looks away. “…Did I just say that out loud?”   

            “Yep,” you affirm brightly. “You did.”          

            Sans groans, and you’re pretty sure that if he didn’t have his hands full, he’d be trying to hide his face somehow. As it is, you’re glad that he said it aloud—knowing that he thinks you’re cute makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

            “A-anyway,” he stammers. “I’m gonna need you to close your eyes, okay?”

            You think your heart might’ve just skipped a beat.

            “…What for?” you ask slowly.

            “We’re getting close, and like I said, I want this to be a surprise.”

            For some reason, that answer makes you a little bit disappointed. Nevertheless, you close your eyes without complaint.

            “Fine. Just don’t let me bump into anything,” you grumble.

            “Oh, of course not,” Sans says. You can’t see his face with your eyes closed (obviously), but you can almost _hear_ the smile in his voice. “I would _never_.”

            He gently tugs you forward, and you promptly end up bumping into something relatively hard and warm. You open your eyes and glower at Sans, whom you’re now pressed up against. You ignore your profusely blushing cheeks, and try your best to look annoyed… but it’s hard to look annoyed when your heart is beating a mile a minute.

            “Saaaaans!”

            “Alright, alright,” he says, fighting back laughter. “I won’t let you bump into anything. Now close your eyes.”

            You close your eyes again, and allow him to lead you to whatever it is he wants to show you. He does a pretty good job of it, but it’s not an exact science—there are a few times you get wet because you’ve come out from under the umbrella, and there are several times that you almost trip over loose stones. Eventually, you feel a sudden rush of air, and you shiver as the temperature drops a few degrees. The sound of raindrops fade into the distance as Sans keeps walking, and you can hear plastic flapping as he closes the umbrella. A few seconds later, he stops walking completely, and gently turns you to face something.

            “You can open your eyes now,” he says, his voice hushed.

            You slowly open your eyes, and what you see before you literally takes your breath away.

            The two of you are standing on a narrow path along the edge of a cliff, which drops off into the largest cavern you’ve ever seen. It extends as far as the eye can see, the distant horizon nothing more than a muddled sea of black. High above you, the star-like crystals of the Underground are brighter than ever. They bathe the cavern in a soft blue light, giving the view before you a mystical, dream-like appearance. …And what a view it is.

            A castle rises up out of the shadow that’s cast on the rest of the Underground, its battlements and spires striking against the soft light of the ceiling stars. Around the base of the castle, you can barely make out the outlines of a collection of buildings. They sprawl out into a sea of grey, forming a city as big as any metropolis you would find on the surface. The vast scope of the Underground awes you, and you find yourself rendered speechless.

            “Well… what d’you think?” Sans asks quietly. You glance over at him, struggling to find the words to explain how you’re feeling. As you lapse into silence, Sans’ smile wanes a little, and he seems to grow apprehensive.

            “If you… if you don’t like it, we could always…”

            “No!” you exclaim. “No, it… it’s _beautiful_ , Sans! I’ve never seen anything so… wow. This is _amazing_.”

            Sans’ smile instantly returns at your praise, along with that adorable magic-induced blue blush of his.

            “Heh. I-uh… thought you would,” he murmurs bashfully. “You’re always looking at the stars in Snowdin, so I figured you’d like these even more.”

            He rubs the back of his skull and sits down, his feet dangling over the edge of the cliff. He pats the stone beside him, silently asking you to sit with him. You do, and you dangle your own feet over the side. The thought of falling gives you butterflies, but then you remind yourself that you have a magical skeleton beside you that’s more than capable of catching you.

            Said skeleton sighs contentedly and tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling stars high above. You join him in it, watching them sparkle in the darkness.

            “Hey…” he says eventually. You glance over at him, to find that he still has his gaze trained on the stars above. He looks almost… wistful. “What are the _real_ stars like?”

            “The… _real_ stars?” you echo uncertainly.

            “Y’know… the ones on the surface.”

            This is the first time that Sans has ever asked you about the surface, in all the time you’ve known him. In fact, he almost seems to actively avoid the subject, to the point that he leaves the room whenever Papyrus is quizzing Frisk about it. So it comes as a surprise to you that he’s bringing it up on his own, and especially at a time like this.

            “Well…” you start, “the stars on the surface are generally white, for starters. Or yellow, and sometimes even orange. There’s a lot more of them, too, and they’re smaller than the stars down here. Think of it like… like taking a few handfuls of sugar, and throwing them into the sky. That’s what they look like.”

            “…Sugar in the sky, huh?” he echoes thoughtfully. He closes his eyesockets, as if he’s trying to picture it.

            “And then there are sometimes stars that streak across the sky,” you continue. “Well, they’re technically meteors—but people call them ‘shooting stars’ anyway. We have this tradition on the surface that whenever you see a shooting star, you wish on them in hopes that it’ll come true.”

            “You wish on shooting stars, huh?” Sans says. “I guess that’s where our tradition came from. That’s interesting—I’d always assumed we’d made it up.”

            “Monsters wish on stars, too?” you ask.

            “Yeah. Well, not the real stars, obviously—but we wish on our ceiling stars in the futile hope that our dreams will someday come true,” he tells you. There’s something sad in his voice that you’re not sure you understand.

            “…What kind of things do monsters wish for?” you ask, thinking of Sans.

            He looks over at you with a strange look on his face, as if he’d expected you to already know the answer. That expression just as quickly fades away, though, when he sees the genuine curiosity on your face.

            “Well, most monsters generally wish for the same thing—for the barrier to be broken, so we can all go and live on the surface,” he says.

            You’d say that’s a pretty good dream to have. There’s something in Sans’ tone, however, that makes a dream like that almost seem… silly. Like’s he’s purposefully demeaning it, for some reason.

            “…But you don’t?” you ask. “I mean… you don’t want to live on the surface?”

            Sans is silent for a moment. He has… a really sad look on his face—one that you wish you knew how to fix.

            “…That’s a dream I gave up on a long time ago,” he mutters, his bone-brow furrowing. He falls silent, and you patiently wait for him to elaborate. As the silence begins to stretch, you decide to spur him on. (His dark expression is starting to worry you.)

            “…Why?” you ask gently.

            He sighs heavily and goes back to staring at the stars.

            “It’s just not realistic anymore, y’know?” he says heavily. “In all of the hundreds of timelines, the kid never managed to break the barrier.”

            “But you only need seven souls, right?” you point out. “Well, now you have eight. That’s more than enough to break it.”

            “You don’t understand,” he sighs. “In order to break it, a single monster has to wield the seven humans souls. Using their combined determination, that monster could strengthen their own magic, and make their attacks strong enough to shatter the barrier.”

            “…I still don’t see the problem,” you say, confused.

            “They would have to _wield_ the souls, in the same way that you would an object, or a weapon,” he explains. “And for them to do that… the soul would have to be completely separated from its body.”

            “Completely separated? You mean like when I take my soul out of my body?”

            “No,” Sans says. “If that were the case, we’d probably already be on the surface…”

            Sans seems to be choosing his next words carefully.

            “For a soul to be completely separated… its body has to cease to exist.”

            “So… in order to use a person’s soul to break the barrier, you have to kill them first.”

            Sans flinches, and you think you saw shame briefly flash across his face.

            “That’s a blunt way of putting it, but… yeah.”

            “Oh.”

            What else is there for you to say?

            “Now you see why breaking the barrier isn’t really a possibility anymore,” he says, his gaze shifting away from your own. “There are too many people out there that care about the two of you. There’s not a single monster in the Underground that would so much as lay a finger on the kid, and as the kid’s sister, you’re protected by association. There’s no monster out there that’s willing to take either of your souls… even if it costs us our freedom.”

            …And with that, a crushing amount of guilt has been placed squarely on your shoulders.

            _I’m the last soul they need. If they had my soul, all of their hopes and dreams would finally come true… but because I’m alive, they’re all going to be stuck down here forever. Is it really fair to them if I keep on living? Maybe I should—_

“Look, Buttercup,” Sans says, interrupting your thoughts. “I know you, and so I know what you’re thinking right now. And so before you go and do anything stupid, I’m going to tell you this…”

            He looks you in the eye with an almost scary amount of intensity, and his hand tightens in its place around your own.

            “You wouldn’t be doing any of us a favor by giving up your soul,” he says, his voice unusually serious. “You have a lot of people that care about you, and I doubt any of them would encourage your suicide.”

            You think that’s all he has to say, but then he adds on one final remark.

            “…Someone might even think that a world without you… isn’t worth living in.”

            He practically turns indigo at his words, and he quickly goes back to studying the stars again. A similar blush is making its way into your own cheeks. You know he likes you—that much is obvious—but to like you enough that he wouldn’t be able to live without you? You hadn’t really… expected that. You suddenly feel the urge to change the subject.

            “So, if you don’t care about living on the surface anymore… what _is_ your wish?” you ask. “You do have one, right? Everyone wishes for _something_.”

            “My wish?” he echoes. He looks away, and takes his hand out of your own.

            You’re starting to think that you might’ve accidentally crossed a line. Sans taps his fingers on the ground, and he has an expression on his face that you can only call ‘conflicted.’ His irises shift back and forth, and it’s not hard to imagine that he’s having a heated internal debate right now. Eventually, he seems to reach some sort of decision. He takes a deep, shaky, breath, and turns to face you.

            “My wish… is to find a way to be happy; no matter the circumstances I happen to find myself in,” he says finally. “You know how fickle the universe can be. It tends to make my life a living nightmare, so you can imagine that I’m not the kind of guy to go wishing for something I deem unrealistic.”

            You nod. Honestly, you’d expected him to say something like that. If you know one thing about Sans, it’s that he tends to be cynical.

            “But lately… I…” Sans continue, “I, well… the universe has actually decided to cut me a break. Things right now are… really good, y’know? We may not be on the surface but things are still really, _really_ good for me.”

            Sans hesitates briefly, taking a moment to… is he twiddling his thumbs?

            _That’s uh… unusual._

“Frisk didn’t reset, Flowey doesn’t have the souls, and Chara hasn’t made an appearance,” he continues. “And… above everything else… _you_ fell down. Everything new that’s happened this timeline, everything _good_ … it happened because of _you_.”

            “All in all… I’m pretty happy with this timeline. Everything has somehow managed to go my way,” he says quietly. “There’s just _one_ thing that could make this any better.”

            He swallows hard, and locks eyes with you.

            “The one thing that could make me any happier is if you... if we…” he trails off. His hands ball into fists by his sides, and he seems to be trying to gather his courage.

            “Is if you would…”

            He grits his teeth.

            “If you would maybe consider…”

            He screws his eyes shut. Whatever it is he’s trying to say, he almost seems to be going through _physical pain_ trying to say it. Every bone in his body is tensed up to the breaking point, coiled up like a spring. You’re instinctively bracing yourself for the moment that it lets loose. You don’t have to wait long.

            “Oh, to hell with it!” he suddenly yells, his eyes shooting open. “I love you, (Y/N)!”

            His words resound through the cavern, his voice echoing across the entire Underground. You freeze, your mind in too much shock to properly process what he just said. If he said what your ears are telling you that he said, then… you’d better make sure.

            “U-Uh…” you stammer, your voice a few octaves higher than normal. “C-come again?”

            Sans runs one of his hands across his face, trying in vain to cover up his extremely bright, indigo-blue blush. He takes a deep breath, and slowly drops his hand. He studies your face, and seems to draw courage from whatever he sees there.

            “(Y/N), I… I love you,” he repeats.

            _He… he actually said it._

Sans slowly reaches out to you. Instead of changing course, or doing something else like he always has before, his hand actually ends up reaching its original destination. His hand cups the side of your face, and his incredibly soft chalk-like thumb glides gently across you cheek.

            “I love you. I’ve loved you… for a long time now, actually,” he admits. “That’s why I was acting so strange—I was afraid to tell you.”

            “I know,” you murmur. You’d say more, but you’re sill kinda in shock.

            “But you don’t know why,” he says. His irises take in every tiny detail of your face, as if he’s trying to imprint it into his memory. “You know what my past has been like, (Y/N). You know I’m not exactly… stable. You’ve seen how I act sometimes—I don’t think I need to tell you that I have… unresolved _issues_.”

            “I know,” you repeat.

            Of course you know. His emotions are extremely volatile—it’s something that he’s demonstrated several times over. But that’s one of the reasons that you love him. The intensity of his feelings is something that makes you feel secure—you know for a fact that he cares about you. He’s not like Charlotte, and he’s not like your parents. If he cares, which he _does_ … he would never abandon you like they did.

            “Things are good right _now_ , but those bad timelines, those resets… they aren’t just going to fade away. They’re going to haunt me for the rest of my life,” he murmurs. “The lingering fear that everything is going to be stolen from me again—the fear that I can lose _you_ , the one good thing that happened to me—it’s going to shadow me forever.”

            He takes a moment to move your hair out of your face, lovingly tucking it behind your ear. At the same time, his irises flicker and die, leaving his eyesockets completely dark. It… scares you.

            “I’m _terrified_ , (Y/N). I gave up caring about others for a reason—getting too close to anyone else is dangerous. If I care about someone, it’ll just hurt more when they’re eventually… _inevitably_ … taken away from me. I’m extremely attached to you, (Y/N). I’m much closer than I should be, but I can’t bear being any further away. I love you, and it’s _terrifying_ , (Y/N).”

            Tears form at the corners of his eyesockets, but he completely ignores them. He’s completely focused on you. You, and nothing else.

            “If I lose you, (Y/N)… I… I don’t know what I’d do with myself. You and my bro are the only two things in this world that I care about anymore. In Paps’ case, I at least know that I can get him back. All it would take is a reset. But _you_ … if I were to lose you, I don’t know if a reset would change anything. This is the first time you’ve ever appeared, and I have no way of knowing if you ever would again. And even if you did, you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t even remember me. I could lose you so easily, (Y/N). And that simple fact, all the uncertainty behind your sudden entrance to this timeline… it _terrifies_ me.”

            The tears forming in Sans’ eyesockets slowly run down his cheekbones, leaving luminescent trails in their wake.

            “Because if you were to disappear…” he croaks, his voice cracking, “I wouldn’t hesitate to follow you.”

            You hate seeing him cry. You slowly reach out to him, and carefully start to wipe his tears away.

            “I’m not going to disappear, Sans,” you murmur. “I promise.”

            “…Don’t,” he whispers.

            You draw back slightly, thinking you’ve done something wrong.

            “Don’t what?” you ask quietly.

            “…Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

            “I don’t,” you tell him.

            “But—”

            “This isn’t one of those promises. Do you know why, Sans?”

            He doesn’t answer, but you think you see a flicker of white in those eyesockets of his.

            “This is a promise I can keep, because… because I love you, too. I love you, even though I thought that I’d never love anyone again. The people that I love always end up stabbing me in the back, in one way or another. But even so, I love you, Sans. I love you, and I trust you with my life. I hate to see you hurt like this, and the last thing I want is to be the cause of it,” you say, gently tracing his jaw line with your thumb.

            “I know I would hurt you if I disappeared. And so, I will do _anything_ —and I really do mean _anything_ —to keep that from happening. I won’t disappear, Sans. I can’t promise that everything is going to be all hunky-dory, but when life decides that it wants to make us burn in hell… at least we’ll have each other. As long as we support each other, we can overcome anything that life throws at us. I _won’t_ let anything hurt you again, Sans. I promise.”

            During your little speech, Sans went completely still. He’s staring at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking—his face is completely slack. Then… he laughs. He laughs, and renewed tears slide down his face.

            You can feel tears start to gather in your own eyes as you realize the meaning behind everything that just happened. The wait is finally over. He’d confessed to you. You try to blink your tears back, but it has the reverse effect of what you’d intended—the tears spill down your cheeks, hot against your skin.

            “Hey,” Sans murmurs, “don’t cry.”

            “Look—look who’s—talking,” you hiccup. “You—you’re practically—a fountain.”

            “At least mine are happy tears,” he teases.

            “Who—who said—that I—wasn’t happy?!”

            Sans chuckles gently and reaches out for you again, intending to wipe your tears away. It’s a nice gesture, but all he really ends up doing is spreading water all over your face. Makes sense—he’s a skeleton.

            “…This isn’t working very well, is it?” he asks you, a small smile on his face. Instead of risking another embarrassingly hiccup-y reply, you just shake your head.

            Sans runs his thumb along your face until the both of you calm down, and your hiccups have faded into the occasional funny breath. However, he doesn’t pull away. His irises are studying your face again, moving along its contours. You watch as he studies your jaw line, then your nose, your eyes, and finally… your lips.

            Now that he’s finally confessed to you, the desire in his eyes is perfectly clear to you. He’s not trying to hide it anymore, and he’s not making a secret of the fact that he wants to kiss you. You aren’t entirely sure how that would work. (He doesn’t even have lips!) But when he gently pulls you towards him, you don’t resist. He’s not the only one who wants this.

            With your heart thundering in your chest, you close your eyes and lean forward, ready to close the distance between you…

            “LOOK, FRISK! OUR PLAN IS WORKING PERFECTLY! …THOUGH I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY (Y/N) IS TRYING TO EAT SANS’ FACE. IS THAT A HUMAN THING?”

            Your eyes shoot open, and you whirl around in the direction of the obnoxiously loud and reeeeaaallly badly timed voice. A certain cinnamon roll’s skull is poking over top of an unusually large rock. As you watch, said cinnamon roll is tackled by a certain purple-and-blue missile, quickly followed by a certain yellow-scaled nerd.

            You stare at them for a moment, struggling to understand what you’re seeing. When you finally realize that they’d been following you from the start, your face goes from pink to tomato-red in seconds. You turn back to Sans… only to find that he’s disappeared into the depths of his hoodie. The blue light that his face is emitting is so strong that the hood doesn’t help him, though—you might even be able to see his face _better_ from in there.

            … _They’d better have a good explanation for this._


	22. Alls Well That Ends Well

 

Your Perspective

            You and Sans are back at the clearing where the party took place, facing your somewhat sheepish looking group of friends. They had originally been excited to see the two of you—they were probably drowning in the anticipation of how their little “game” had turned out—but with one look at your face, they all became very interested in their feet. And for good reason, you’re sure. You wouldn’t exactly say that you’re _enraged_ with them, but you’re definitely more than a little annoyed. They just _had_ to make themselves known at the worst possible moment, didn’t they?

            “So,” you say slowly, taking a moment to look into each and every one of their faces. “Is anyone going to explain what exactly is going on here?”

            They all start to look at each other, none of them willing to step up and bear the brunt of your anger.

            You glance over at Sans, wondering if he has anything to add. Your heart sinks a little when you see that he’s still stuck in Hoodieville, and is as far away from you as he possibly can be. The chain of your handcuffs are taut, and don’t so much as rattle as he shifts nervously in place. Oh, the sight of that gleaming chain is enough to make steam come out of your ears.

            “And will somebody _please_ get these things off of us?!” you exclaim suddenly, raising your wrist as if to remind them. “My wrist is completely rubbed raw!”

            The assembled group of monsters flinch at your tone, and then focus their attention on your little sister. She has an extremely nervous look on her face, so scared of your reaction that she seems to be rooted to her spot in front of Toriel. With a gentle shove from Alphys, though, she scurries towards you, her hands fumbling as she hurriedly removes the keys from her back pocket. She unlocks your handcuffs as quickly as she can, allowing them to fall unceremoniously to the floor. She doesn’t even bother to pick them up—as soon as they’re off of you, she runs back to stand next to Alphys, apparently craving the relative safety that comes with numbers.

             You sigh in relief once the handcuffs are off and gently rub at your wrist, trying to banish the redness that those blasted handcuffs had caused. You glance over at Sans again, to see that he’s stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. He’s completely withdrawn, and it just makes you angrier with the assembled monsters.

            “Explanation,” you growl. “Now.”

            You stare pointedly at Alphys, thinking that she’s probably the most qualified to answer your questions. Frisk may have come up with the idea for the game (this has your sister’s randomness written all over it), but something tells you that Alphys was the mastermind behind the concept—you know how much she likes to play match-maker.

            “W-well,” she stammers. “W-well, you see…”

            She sighs, and takes a moment to clean off her glasses. You can almost _see_ the gears turning in her head—she’s trying to figure out how best to break the news to you. After nearly a minute of thinking it through, she swallows hard, and pushes her glasses back up her snout.

            “I-I—w-we, well…” She stops, sighs, and screws her eyes shut.

            “I ship you two, okay?!” she exclaims suddenly. Her eyes fly open again, and they have a manic look to them that you know all too well. “You two are _so cute_ together! The instant I first saw you two interacting with each other, I knew that you would be _perfect_ for each other as a couple! So I… um… kept tabs on the two of you, and started plotting ways to get you two to fall in love with each other.”

            _Plotting, huh? Great choice of words, Alphys._

“Alphys,” you start, planning to scold her. But before you can, she cuts you off.

“B-but none of my ideas really seemed like they would work, and as time went on… I-I realized that I didn’t _need_ to get you two together! You already liked each other—you just didn’t know what t-to _do_ about it!” she exclaims. “It was _obvious_ that you wanted to be in a relationship, but neither of you confessed! It was _infuriating_ , watching you two awkwardly side-step your love for each other, each of you waiting for the other to make the first move. So, I decided that I needed to give the two of you a little push in the right direction, and get you two into a situation that would guarantee that someone confessed. But if I was going to do that, I was going to need some help.”

            Alphys glances down at Frisk, and puts a hand on her shoulder.

            “I kinda felt like I needed your sister’s permission before I started to mess with your love life, so I texted Frisk, and told her that I thought you and Sans should get together. She completely agreed with me, and decided to help me out—she came up with the idea for the party, and this little hide-and-seek game.”

            A flicker of a memory suddenly comes to you—when you had gone over to Sans’ house for that first spaghetti dinner, Frisk had gotten a text from Alphys. Now you _finally_ know what that mischievous smile was about.

            _“Yeah,”_ Frisk signs, looking at her shoes. _“I’m sorry about all of that, but… I really liked the idea of Dunkle being your boyfriend, Sis. He’s a great guy.”_

“Yeah, he really is,” you agree, before you can stop yourself. Your cheeks grow hot as your friends give you knowing looks, and you think you hear Toriel chuckle a little bit.

            Frisk looks up at you, a little bit of relief shining in her eyes.

            _“So… you’re not mad?”_ she asks you, biting her lip.

            “No,” you sigh, stepping forward to ruffle her hair. “I’m not mad. Honestly, I think we needed the help a little.”

            More than a little, actually. If Frisk hadn’t handcuffed the two of you to each other, the odds are that you would have never told Sans that anything was wrong, and Sans would never have confessed. If the handcuffs weren’t there, you would’ve run away the moment you were upset, and Sans probably would have teleported the moment he got flustered. So, honestly… you’re kind of grateful for Alphys’ and your sister’s nosiness.

            The only thing that still bugs you is that they were spying on you during such a sensitive moment. You’re not quite ready to let that go.

            “But did you _have_ to follow us?” you ask, looking at Alphys again.

            “Y-yes!” she exclaims. “W-we had to be there, t-to help you guys out if things didn’t go right. Like, if things got awkward, Fr-Frisk was going to take your attention off of it by distracting you.”

            “But if things went well—and they admittedly did—that’s still a huge invasion of our privacy,” you point out, smoldering a little bit. That’s an understatement. They would have heard everything that you and Sans said to each other. Wait. Now that you think about it…

            Your face pales as you begin to realize the implications of their listening in to you. Sans and you had discussed the resets. If they were listening the entire time, then they must have heard you talking about it. But if that’s the case, then why aren’t they…?

            “DON’T WORRY, (Y/N)!” Papyrus exclaims, beaming at you. “WE RESPECTED YOUR PRIVACY. I MADE SURE THAT WE WERE EXACTLY 25 YARDS AWAY FROM YOU AT ALL TIMES—COMPLETELY OUT OF EARSHOT. AFTER ALL, WE WOULDN’T WANT TO INTERRUPT ANYTHING, WOULD WE?”

            …The irony of that statement is silently killing you inside.

            “U-uh, we’re sorry about, um… interrupting your kiss,” Alphys stammers. “That wasn’t… intentional.”

            “WAIT, THEY WERE ABOUT TO KISS?” Papyrus asks. “BUT A KISS IS WHEN SOMEONE TOUCHES THEIR LIPS TO SOMEONE ELSE’S CHEEK, ISN’T IT? (Y/N) WAS NOWHERE NEAR MY BROTHER’S CHEEK—WHATEVER THAT WAS, IT DIDN’T LOOK LIKE A KISS.”

            _Papyrus, you precious cinnamon roll, you._

            “A-anyway, like Papyrus said, we were careful not to overhear you,” Alphys says, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “We just wanted to make sure all of our hard work paid off.”

            Everyone nods in agreement.

            “And all of you were in on this?” you ask, looking around at the gathered monsters.

            “YES, WE WERE ALL PART OF IT!” Papyrus exclaims. “ONCE FRISK FOUND OUT, SHE CAME TO FIND ME. SHE WANTED MY HELP IN GETTING THAT LAZY BONES TO EXPRESS HIMSELF—FOR ONLY I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, KNOWS HOW TO GET MY BROTHER TO DO ANYTHING.”

            Sans chuckles a little at that, and you’re relived to see that he’s putting his hood down. He’s still blushing (he’s so adorable when he’s flustered!), but he’s apparently gotten over his embarrassment enough to show his face again.

            “Frisk told me what was going on when she gave me my invitation,” Toriel says, laying a hand on Frisk’s other shoulder. “Sans is such a nice young man—he has my full approval.”

            The ‘nice young man’ pulls at the neck of his shirt, and the glow on his face brightens at Toriel’s words.

            “I found out about Frisk’s plan when you delivered my invitation to me. She left me comprehensive instructions on what was going to happen at the party, and swore me to secrecy,” Grillby says, a slight smile forming on his shifting face. “But I knew that Sans was interested in you far before that. Whenever he came to the bar, you were the only thing he would talk about, you know.”

            “C’mon Grillbz,” Sans protests. “Don’t—”

            “And do you remember that day that he first brought you to my establishment?” Grillby asks, completely ignoring Sans. “Well, he was willing to fight me out of jealousy for you. That is why there has been so much tension between us for the last few week or so.”

            “…What?” you ask, shocked.

            You’re not sure what you should be more surprised about—the fact that Sans would fight his best friend over you, or the fact that said best friend had given him a reason to be jealous. (He wouldn’t have been jealous if Grillby didn’t show signs of attraction towards you, right?)

            You turn to Sans, waiting for him to tell you that he’s lying. When you see that he’s very pointedly looking away, and that his hands are inching towards his hood, though…

_He would really beat up Grillby for me?_

            …Something about that strikes you as romantic.

            “That’s kind of sweet,” you say softly, so that only Sans can hear. He goes rigid, and then sighs, his hands quickly returning to his pockets. He takes a less-than-covert side-step towards you, so that the two of you are barely brushing elbows. The gesture is cute enough that you find yourself instinctively twirling your hair.

            When you eventually turn your attention back to your friends, the smiles on their faces makes your face burn. It’s bad enough that they ship the two of you—why do they have to be so obvious about it?

            “S-so, uh… what about you two?” you ask Mettaton and Undyne, trying to shift the attention away from yourself. “I only met the two of you today.”

            They exchange a look, and a smile appears on Undyne’s face. Mettaton, on the other hand, seems vaguely annoyed.

            “Alphys,” they both say, in perfect sync.

            “Alphys gets really pumped up about things like this,” Undyne says, beaming at her girlfriend. “I didn’t really care about you _punks_ , but I’d do anything to help my Alphie out.”

            Alphys blushes profusely, and absentmindedly adjusts her glasses from their place on her snout.

            “That’s one way of putting it. Alphys just wouldn’t _shut up_ about the two of you,” Mettaton sighs, fixing his hair. “Every time I talked to her, it was (Y/N) this, Sans that. It eventually got to be so irritating that I agreed to help her, if only to speed the process up a bit. The handcuffs are courtesy of me, by the way.”

             Somehow, that doesn’t surprise you. Mettaton seems to be the kind of guy that would keep a pair of handcuffs around for, uh… less-than-innocent reasons.

            “Oh, but don’t get me wrong darling,” Mettaton says quickly. “Now that I see the two of you together, I can see that my effort was well placed—you two are absolutely _adorable_.”

            “Yeah, you two weenies seem like you’ll be fine,” Undyne agrees, fixing her single eye on you. “And sure, you’re kinda cute together. No one beats out me and my girlfriend, though!”

            And with that, she sweeps Alphys up for a kiss. Alphys shrieks in surprise, and then laughs as Undyne nuzzles the side of her face.

            “Not in front of the children!” Toriel exclaims, turning to face them. Then she flinches, and gives you a kind of apologetic look. “ _Child_. Not in front of the _child_ —not in front of Frisk.”

            You feel that your sister is old enough to handle seeing people kiss, but you don’t go to correct your goat mom.

            “Anyway, darling, speaking of girlfriends,” Mettaton says, waving off Undyne and Alphys’ PDA, “are you two official?”

            “…What?” you ask. The question catches you completely off guard.

            “Are you two a couple?” Mettaton presses, rephrasing his question. You blink, his words going in one ear and out the other. Mettaton chuckles and gives you a knowing smile, before trying again. “Is _Sans_ your _boyfriend_?”

            As your muddled brain finally understands the meaning behind his words, your blush picks up a notch.

            “I—we—are we? I don’t—boyfriend? Maybe? Yes? I don’t know?” you squeak.

            You glance over at Sans, to see that his eyesockets have a kind of glazed look to them—he’s just as unprepared for this as you are. You only just admitted your feelings to one another—does that make you a couple? Or is there some kind of official ‘do you want to be my boyfriend’ kind of junk you have to ask him? Or do monsters have some kind of tradition for that? In some human cultures, a boy gives the person he likes a ring to prove that they’re dating. Do monsters do that? Are you missing something? What if you screwed something up at some point, and—

            Sans gently takes your hand in his own, and pulls you towards him so that your sides are touching. When you glance over at him, he’s staring in the opposite direction, and his blush is so bright that you could use his face as a flashlight. The sight of it draws a collective “aww” from the assembled monsters.

            “I guess I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Mettaton purrs, looking approvingly at Sans.

_Sans is my boyfriend._

            You’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating for a moment. When it starts up again, it’s pounding so hard that you’re pretty sure that Sans can hear it from his place next to you. A crazy smile finds its way your face, and you’re so happy at the moment that you think that joy must be radiating out of you.

_Sans is my_ boyfriend _!_

            It doesn’t feel real. Finally, after weeks of wishing for it to happen, it’s actually become a reality. Sans is your boyfriend. Just because it’s so unbelievable, you feel like telling yourself that fact one more time. _Sans_ is your _boyfriend_.

            “Well, uh… this is great and all, but I think I’m about ready to get out of here,” Sans tells you, his voice low so as not to be overheard.

            “All the attention’s too much for you, huh?” you tease him.

            “Heh, yeah—maybe a little,” he admits.

            “I’d leave with you, but if we leave together, they may assume… things,” you say.

            “Things?” he asks, a hint of amusement to his voice. “What kinds of _things_ d’you mean, Buttercup?”  
            “Well, y’know… _things_ ,” you repeat, your face heating up. Sans chuckles, and playfully bumps his hip into yours.

            “Like, _naughty_ kinds of things?” he drawls.

            “Saaans!” you complain.

            Frisk must have overheard him, because she feigns the biggest yawn that she can manage, and gently taps Toriel’s arm.

            “Oh, my child, are you tired?” she asks. Frisk nods, sneaking a glance at you from the corner of her eye. “It _is_ starting to get late. Perhaps we should all turn in for tonight, yes?”

            The rest of your group murmurs their approval. You sigh, your relief so strong that it’s practically tangible. It’s been a loooong day, and you’re more than ready to reunite with your sweet, sweet bed. You’ll have to thank Frisk later for her intervention.

            “Yeah, that sounds like a g-good idea,” Alphys says, separating herself from Undyne. “We’ll see you g-guys later, I guess.”

            Alphys and Undyne walk in your direction, apparently on their way back towards the Hotlands. As they pass, Alphys takes a moment to whisper something into your ear.

            “Make sure you text me later, okay? I want to hear _all_ about what happened between you two lovebirds.” 

            You can feel yourself blush at her statement, but you assure her that you will.  

            They continue on their way, and Mettaton is quick to follow them. Just before he would have passed you, though, he stops and holds out a slip of paper to you.

            “We didn’t really get to talk much at this party, did we darling?” he asks. “I have something that I’d very much like to discuss with you sometime—a business proposition, if you will.”

            You raise an eyebrow and take the paper from him. There’s a phone number written in pink glitter-gel pen on it. While you find the pink writing to be a little bit gaudy, you have to admit that Mettaton has really pretty handwriting—his cursive is immaculate.

            “A business proposition, huh?” you echo. You can feel Sans stiffen beside you—he doesn’t seem too enthused at the idea of you entering business with the ‘rust bucket.’ “What kind of proposition?”

            “Well darling, your singing is absolutely stellar,” he starts, “and I’ve been looking to add some variety to the shows at my resort—you _have_ heard of the MTT resort, I assume?”

            “Yes,” you say. “I’ve been to the department store a couple of times.”

            “Well, I’m looking to add a new show to the lineup at the restaurant’s evening entertainment,” he explains, “and a performance from you may be just what it needs. It could be a single-night affair, if you wanted, and there would, of course, be certain benefits to it. That could take the form of monetary compensation, if you so wished… but I have something else that you may prefer.”

            He hesitates for a moment, building up dramatic suspense.

            “Like, perhaps… an all-expenses-paid first date at the MTT’s premiere restaurant?”

            “Oh my goodness, is not that place very expensive?” Toriel asks, one of her paws finding its way to her mouth.

            “That it is, Miss Dreemur,” Mettaton purrs.

            “Please, call me Toriel. And that is very generous of you, Mettaton.”

            “Oh no, it would be the least I could do, if it meant getting (Y/N) to perform for me. I’ve seen the crowd she draws at Grillby’s—if I televised her performance, my ratings would undoubtedly go through the roof!”

            You’re not sure you’re ready to take on a bigger audience, but at the same time, Toriel is right—the MTT restaurant is extremely fancy (albeit it Mettaton themed). If it were really all expenses paid, that’s an offer you feel you don’t want to pass up on.

            “What do you think?” you quietly ask Sans.

            “Well, as much as I hate to admit it… it sounds like he’s giving you a pretty good deal,” he tells you begrudgingly.

            “Oh, you don’t have to decide right _now_ , darling!” Mettaton exclaims. “Just give me a call if you decide you’re interested, and we can iron out all the details.”

            “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind,” you say.

            Mettaton gives you a smile worthy of a celebrity, and then turns and gives the rest of the group something you can only call a princess-like wave.

            “Until next time, beauties!” he cries. And with that, he hurries off after Undyne and Alphys, his long stride allowing him to easily catch up to them.

            You watch them until they vanish around a bend in the tunnel, and then the rest of you turn as one, and start your long trek back to Snowdin (and, eventually, all the way back to the ruins).

 

***

 

            According to your phone, it’s almost 11:30 by the time you make it back to the door of the ruins. In the time that it had taken you to walk back, Frisk had almost fallen asleep standing up (she had apparently been even more tired than she had let on). Toriel ended up having to carry her. She actually seems to be really happy about that, though—she’s smiling, and the way she’s rubbing Frisk’s back is reminiscent of your mother…

            No, don’t think about that. Your past is _not_ worth thinking about. Your hand tightens around Sans,’ and the pressure of it helps you to clear your head. You glance over at him, and a smile easily lights on your face at the sight of him stepping in time with you. You’d thought that he was going to stop in Snowdin with Papyrus, but he’d insisted on walking you all the way to your door. You’re reminded—once again—of how sweet he can be.

            “Well, we are here,” Toriel whispers, keeping her voice low to prevent Frisk from waking. “It was really _ice_ to see you again, Sans.”

            Sans chuckles, and you’re close enough to him that you can feel his ribcage vibrating as a result.

            “Wow Tori. That joke really… tickled my _funny bone_ ,” he retorts. You roll your eyes, but, as always, can’t help but smile.

            “All joking aside, though, you should start thinking about getting home—it is very late, and I think your brother may start to miss you if you are gone to0 long,” she says.

            “Sure thing, Tori,” he says.

            Toriel seems to be waiting for him to turn and go. When he doesn’t, she gives him a knowing smile.

            “Well, I am going to put Frisk to bed. Come in when you are ready, (Y/N).”

            She pulls open the ruin doors, and hurries inside. (You’re pretty sure that you saw her glance over her shoulder, though.)

            “Today was pretty intense, huh?” you say, a tired sigh escaping from you.

            “You can say that again,” he agrees, echoing your sigh. “I think I’m going to take it easy tomorrow—maybe do a movie marathon.”

            “Am I invited?” you ask, smiling at him. He scoffs and rolls his irises, taking his hand out of yours to playfully cross his arms.

            “Nope. I don’t allow devastatingly beautiful humans over on the weekends,” he drawls.

            _Did he just call me beautiful?_ you ask yourself, a smile crossing your face. _He did, didn’t he._

            You sigh dramatically, laying a hand across your forehead.

            “Oh dear, whatever will I do? I guess I’ll just have to write on my laptop and eat ice cream…”

            “Oh no, you’re starting to sound like Mettaton,” he says. “But in all seriousness, of course you’re invited. You don’t really have to ask anymore, do you?”

            “Heh, I guess not,” you say. You’ve actually barged into his house so many times these last few weeks that the skelebros don’t even keep their front door locked anymore.

            The silence that follows your statement eventually starts to stretch, and even after all you’ve been through today, it still manages to somehow feel awkward.

            “So, uh… you really should start heading home,” you say eventually. “It’s a long walk back to Snowdin.”

            “…I can teleport, remember?”

            “Oh… right.”

            The awkward silence returns. The two of you end up staring at each other, completely at a loss for words.

            “I’m gonna go,” Sans says quickly, rubbing the back of his skull.

            “That’s probably a good idea,” you say, laughing awkwardly.

            “Alright… bye, then.”

            “Bye.”

            Sans stands there for a moment, and then turns and walks back in the direction of Snowdin. After he’s gone a few steps… he disappears, having teleported away. You remain standing there for a few moments, and then sigh and turn back towards the ruin doors. You know that you can’t be with him 24/7… but you’re still disappointed to see him go.

            You hesitate before you reach the ruin doors, allowing the peace of the surrounding forest to settle over you. It’s always so quiet around here. When it snows (and yes, it does snow, even though you’re Underground), you sometimes swear that you can hear the snowflakes as they fall. Then you sigh again, and go to open the ruin doors…

            Suddenly, there’s a slight popping sound from behind you, followed by the rapid crunching of footsteps through the snow. You spin around to look behind you, only to see a blur of white and blue. The next thing you know, a certain skeleton his teeth pressed firmly against your lips.

            You’re caught so off guard that you hardly register anything that’s happening. Not the feeling of his teeth on your lips, not the fact that he has you pinned against the ruin doors, and not even the fact that his hips are flush against yours. In fact, you don’t even have the common sense to close your eyes. When he eventually pulls away, blue faced and bashful, you’re _still_ staring at him, too shocked to say or _do_ anything else.

            He’s immediately put-out by your expression, and is quick to back up a step.

            “S-sorry, I should’ve asked first,” he mutters, looking away. “I just—I didn’t get to earlier, and… I couldn’t resist—”

            Before he can apologize any further, you grab a hold of his wrist and pull him back against you, silencing him by pressing your lips against his teeth again. Now that you know what’s happening, you take the time to enjoy it. You close your eyes, and you shiver as you manage to draw a contented sigh from him. Just the _idea_ of kissing him is more than enough to satisfy you—you don’t even register how weird it feels to be kissing someone else’s teeth.

            Your heart is beating erratically in your chest, and when Sans presses harder against you—forcing you back against the ruin doors—you’re pretty sure that it seized for a moment. You bite back a moan at the feeling of his hips against yours, but there’s no stopping your cheeks from burning. By the time he pulls back again, you’re pretty sure that you’re about the same shade as a cherry. Sans’ face looks like a blueberry, though, so you’re in good company.

            He stays pressed against you for a few more moments, his irises shifting back and forth as he studies your face. Then he draws back, and without so much as another word, disappears back to wherever he came from.

            Left feeling hot and bothered, it takes you an additional few seconds to regain your senses. When you do, you slowly pry yourself off of the ruin doors and turn around, reaching out for the newly-installed handles. As you do, though, you think you catch sight of something… strange… in your peripheral vision. It looks like the silhouette of a young girl—it’s jet black, and it shifts as if it’s made of smoke. When you turn to get a better look at it, though… there’s nothing there. You blink hard, and when it doesn’t reappear, shrug the strange apparition off. You finish opening the ruin doors, and slip inside.

 

***

 

            You sigh explosively as you collapse onto your bed, your heart still hammering from your previous encounter with Sans.

            _What a day…_ you think, reflecting on everything that’d happened. Was it really only this morning that you were playing the piano at Grillby’s? So much happened to you today that it seems as if it’d happened _ages_ ago…

            You quickly slide under the covers, and then stare up at the ceiling, resting one hand on your forehead as you go over all of today’s events in your mind. You’d met Mettaton, and then you’d gotten that weird phone call… you’d gone to Frisk’s party, where you’d had a grill-off and did Karaoke with Sans… then you’d been handcuffed together, and eventually…

            By the time you get to the point where Sans had confessed, you’ve already fallen asleep.


	23. Creation of a Nightmare (Part 1: Memories Best Left Forgotten)

 

** Author’s Note IMPORTANT!!!!!! **

   
            What?! Zana is putting an Author’s Note at the beginning of a chapter? What is this?!  
            Don’t worry, I have a very good reason. This chapter is literally the darkest thing that I have ever written. EVER. This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to adult content, and probably the closest that I ever will. (Well… I have considered doing a Sans’ soul sex one-shot sometime… but that’s beside the point.)  
  


So, this is your warning.

**If you’re under 14, or are especially sensitive, I highly suggest that only read part way into the chapter (I’ll tell you when to stop).**

   
            However, if you’re younger than 14, I’m not going to stop you from reading it. I mean, you all know what you can and can’t handle, and I’m not about to start mothering you. I’ll leave a comprehensive list of trigger warnings below, so read through those before you decide whether or not to read past the suggested stopping point.  
  


**If you _do_ decide to skip it, there will be a synopsis of the chapter in the end Author’s Note, telling you what you need to know without all of the gruesome details.**

   
            **Trigger warnings:** Neglect, Imprisonment, Abandonment, Rape (non-explicit but very suggestive), Yandere, Abuse, Cutting/Self-harm, Slave Trade, Discrimination, Suicidal thoughts, and attempted Suicide.  
  


Your Perspective

   
            The next thing you know… you find yourself standing in the middle of an empty expanse of nothingness, blackness extending for as far as the eye can see. Panic instantly consumes you, and you collapse to the invisible ground as the memory of your last visit here suddenly come rushing back to you.     
            You’d thought that you had managed to forget it—you haven’t thought about your last encounter with Chara for weeks—but the feel of her knife in your stomach, across your throat… now that you’re here again, you can almost feel your old wounds burning.  
            _NO! No, no… nononono! Not here! Anywhere,_ anywhere _but here!_  
            You’re back in the void, and you know that there is no escape. Until you wake up… you’re at Chara’s mercy. You briefly consider running, but you know that would ultimately be pointless. Chara is the master of this place—any resistance that you could offer up would do nothing but entertain her.  
            No. It’s better to retain your dignity, and wait for her to arrive. You know that she’s coming—her child-like laugh is already echoing through the void, and you can already feel that bloodlust of hers focusing on you. You take a deep, shaky breath, and get to your feet. No matter what she does to you, you’re going to take it standing up. You won’t give her the satisfaction of acting as terrified as you feel.  
            You don’t have long to wait. A young child pops into existence in front of you, her ghost-like form slowly weaving back in forth in the air (or lack thereof). The first thing you register are her ruby-red eyes. Following soon after is the sight of her crazed, toothy smile.  
            “Charlotte.”  
            Your greeting to her is nothing but a single word, as you’re still trying to keep your voice from trembling. Her smile loses some of its width when she sees how (outwardly) calm you are, and she instead transitions into a glower.  
            “It’s _Chara_ ,” she corrects, gritting her teeth. “My _name_ is _Chara_.”   
            Somehow, you’d unknowingly struck a nerve by calling her Charlotte. That hadn’t been intentional—it’s just the name that you know her by. You still aren’t sure how Charlotte and the girl standing in front of you are connected… but there’s something about her that undoubtedly reminds you of the Charlotte that you once knew.  
            “I know,” you say, continuing to force your tone to deadpan. “But to me, you will always be Charlotte.”  
            Chara—no, Charlotte—balls her fists at your words, and her eyes flash briefly in anger. A knife suddenly materializes in her hands, and she takes a slow step towards you.  
            “Am I going to have to repeat myself?” she asks you, a false cheerfulness to her voice. She raises the knife threateningly, aiming it straight for your heart. “My name… is _Chara_. I was _never_ Charlotte, and I will never _be_ Charlotte. That was just an alias, and nothing more.”  
            “So that wasn’t you?” you ask quietly. The knife doesn’t really scare you. Not anymore, at least—not when you know that being stabbed is inevitable. If she were to attack you, there’s not really much you can do about it. “You talk like her, you sound like her… heck, you even _act_ like her. Are you really going to stand there and tell me that _wasn’t_ you?”  
            She sighs, and gives you the most condescending look you’ve ever received in your entire life.  
            “Yes, that was me. But my name was never _Charlotte_. I was always _Chara_.”  
            “So, let me get this straight,” you say, completely disregarding the knife that she’s holding to you. “ _You_ were the one that I was always talking to? And… _you_ were the person that was once my best friend? I mean, did I _ever_ know a Charlotte, or was it you the entire time?”  
            The knife disappears from Charlotte’s hands, and she promptly puts them to use pulling at the skin under her eyes. She groans while she does this, letting you know that you’re being a total doofus. Even this small action is reminiscent of Charlotte, and it only serves to confuse you further.  
            “You’re such an _idiot_ , you know that?” she huffs. “If you haven’t figured it out already, I possessed a girl named Charlotte, and took control of her body. I kept her name, but everything she _said_ , _did_ , or _thought_ … that was _me_. Me, _Chara_. Do you get it now? Or am I going to have to get you a manual?”  
            Her choice of words, the way she speaks, her tone… they’re all so familiar. So familiar, in fact, that it brings back memories of your childhood…  
  


~Flashback~

   
            _You were standing in the middle of your kindergarten classroom, surveying the assortment of toys that were stacked along the shelves. Out of all of them, though, there was only_ one _toy that was worthy of your attention. To your young and untrained eye, it looked like a swing set—more specifically, a swing set for silver marbles. (Now that you’re older, you can easily identify the object as a Newton’s Cradle.)_  
 _The object was so strange and foreign that you immediately withdrew it from the shelf, and then marched over to the nearby table to try and figure out what you were supposed to do with it. After trying (and failing) several times to get the object to work correctly, you cried out in frustration, and in a fit of rage, went to push the object off the table._  
 _Luckily for you, there was someone there to catch it._  
 _“Woah!” the girl exclaimed. “What’re you trying to do, break it? Be more careful.”_  
 _She set it back on the table, and then went to walk away, her giant red ribbon bouncing in time to her steps. You watched her go, somewhat shocked that someone else had bothered to speak to you—every other child in the room was in their own little world, playing with some toy or another. For a moment, you had the urge to call out to her… but you decided against it. There was something about the girl that was bugging you… but you just couldn’t put your finger on it._  
 _You were about to turn back to the mysterious object that you had yet to figure out, but then the girl… hesitated. She looked over her shoulder at you, a strange emotion glinting in her eyes. You turned your attention away from the object again, instead trying to solve the mystery of this new girl. You hadn’t yet met an emotion that you didn’t understand. Unlike most five-year-olds, you were surprisingly good at reading the mood. This girl’s mood, however… you just couldn’t pinpoint it. You concentrated hard on her, trying to figure out what the emotion was._  
 _The longer you stared at her, the stronger the girl’s emotion seemed to become. Her eyes widened as she watched you study her, and a smile eventually crossed her face. She skipped back towards you, her wavy blond her bouncing with every jump. When she reached your table, she folded her hands behind her back and leaned over you, her grin widening. Now that she was close to you, you thought that you were starting to understand. This feeling that you’re getting from her… it’s somehow similar to the feeling your teacher gives off when one of her students asks an unexpected question. …Interest._  
 _“Are you having trouble with that toy?” she asked you, cocking her head to one side._  
 _“Yeah,” you said simply._  
 _“Here, let me help you…”_  
 _She proceeded to explain the machine to you, taking a seat beside you at the table. You remember that you hardly understood a word that she said that day—she was using big words, words that a regular kindergartner wouldn’t_ dream _of knowing. Words like_ gravity _, and_ velocity _, and_ energy _. By the time she was done, you were even more confused than you’d originally been._  
 _“Now you try it,” she told you, nudging the toy in your direction._  
            _You looked uncertainly down at the toy, and then back up at the girl. Then you slowly picked up one of the middle marbles… and pulled it out of the line. When you let go, it collided with the other marbles at an awkward angle, sending flashes of silver in all directions. By the time the marbles settled again, the girl was pulling at the skin underneath her eyes, a pained expression on her face._  
            _“I took all that time to explain it to you, and_ that’s _what you do?” she asks, a hint of a whine to her voice. “You really are an idiot, you know that? If you haven’t figured it out already, there’s no_ way _you’re going to make it to high school. Now, I’ll explain it one more time—try to pay better attention.”_  
            _She proceeded to explain everything all over again, this time demonstrating the complex physics concepts by making the marbles mover herself. You watched in awe as the marbles continued to go back and forth, their kinetic energy transferring seamlessly from one side to the other. Then she stilled the marbles, and turned to you._  
            _“Do you get it now, or am I going to have to get you a manual?”_  
  


~End of Flashback~

   
            That was the first time you’d met Charlotte—Chara— _whoever_ that person was. Recalling that memory _now_ , after everything that she’d done to you… it’s painful. If the girl that’s standing in front of you right now—this… Chara—is the person that you’d learned to trust over the years, that you’d learned to _love_ over the years… then _she’s_ also the person that murdered your brother.  
            She’s the person that had stabbed you in the back; rejecting the friendship that you had thought had formed between you.  
            And if Charlotte is Chara… then she’s done much more to hurt you than you have ever imagined.  
She’s responsible for the genocide runs. She’s forced your sister to kill, and she’s the one that damaged Sans’ psyche so badly.  
            She’s done so much harm to this world. All you’ve ever heard about her is that she’s killed, destroyed, murdered… but then, what are you supposed to think about all of those years between you? She had been nice to you. She’d stood up for you. She’d taught you things that not even your teachers fully understood. She was always there for you, and you had always been there for her. _That_ person, the one that you know as _Charlotte_ … just doesn’t match up with this person in front of you; this person that has caused so much pain and suffering.  
            Was the bond that had formed between you _real_? Had it… meant anything to her? Or was it all just a lie? All of that time, had she just been manipulating you? Had you just been a means to an end for her? She had killed your brother, and she had possessed your sister. The fact that she had targeted _your_ _siblings_ , out of all of the people that she could have hurt… it couldn’t have been a coincidence.  
            And that realization… the realization that all along, your ‘best friend’ may have been nothing more than a façade… it kills you inside. This, out of all of Chara’s deeds, is the worst. Everything about your life, from kindergarten on… may have been a lie. Charlotte touched every single part of your life. And now, armed with the knowledge that she had never been truthful with you… every single part that she touched may very well be nothing but an illusion.  
            “…Why?!” you cry, your voice breaking. “I thought that you were my friend! I… Did I… did I ever mean _anything_ to you?!”  
            Chara seems a little bit taken aback. Her smile falls, and for the first time since she first set eyes on you… she looks away.  
            “…No,” she says. “No, you didn’t.”  
            Something inside you breaks at her words. Your hands fall limply to your sides, and tears that you hadn’t even felt form begin to slide down your cheeks.  
            “Why?” you ask again, your voice hoarse. “Why me? What do you _want_ from me?!”  
            “That’s simple, (Y/N),” she says, her eyes showing no sign of sympathy. “I want your soul.”  
            “My… soul?” you echo.  
            “That’s right. All I want… is your soul. It’s the last one I need.”  
            “The last one you need… for what?”  
            “You always _were_ a bright one, weren’t you, (Y/N)? I’m fairly sure that the comedian has already explained all of this to you—I want to _save_ everyone.”  
            You blink. Chara never fails to confuse you—if anything, Sans had told you the exact opposite.  
            “Save everyone?” you echo numbly. “But… I thought…”  
            “This world is corrupted—it’s nothing but a _cesspool_ of misery and deceit,” Chara continues. “People instinctively tend to put their trust and love into other people. Companionship is a basic human need, and like idiots, we all act on that need and latch onto whoever is closest.”  
            “And what gains do we reap from it? Absolutely nothing. Those bonds always end up causing pain. Those bonds lead to abuse, neglect, manipulation… anyone is capable of selfish desires, and anyone, no matter how strong the ‘bond’ between then and another person, is capable of turning right around and scarring that person beyond recognition.”  
            “Just look at our world—look at humanity. We’re completely _littered_ with sin. Arrogance, selfishness, racism, ignorance, alienation, arrogance, deceit, foolishness, intolerance, materialism, possessiveness, vanity, wrath… One way or another, all of these things happen because one person decides to betray the other. _Humanity_ is the root of all evil.”  
            “I want to erase this world, and save everyone that has ever had to experience any of these things, or the sins that stem from them. This world is _dead_. The only way to save everyone from the pain that comes from living, the pain that comes with simply being _alive_ … is to _destroy_ this diseased world, and move on to the next.”  
            For a moment… you’re tempted to agree with her. Life on the surface… well, it’s screwed up. Before you’d fallen down, there wasn’t a single news station that wasn’t streaming some kind of tragedy. Cops being targeted and shot down. A man driving through a crowded street in an eighteen wheeler, intentionally running over as many people as possible. Suicide. Suicide _bombings_. Arson. Rape. Murder. A husband killing his own wife and children… the list goes on, and on, and on…  
            And then, there’s your own life. Your “best friend” had turned on you, and had completely torn your family to shreds. Out of five people, only two of them had survived to recall the tragic events of your past. And out of those two, only one is still innocent to the _true_ harm that had befallen your family. Murder was just the beginning. Then there was your parents cowardice, and then their neglect… and eventually, their suicide, without a second thought about the people they were leaving behind.  
            However… that doesn’t mean that the _entire_ world is evil, and that doesn’t mean that _everything_ should be completely erased. You’ve seen goodness in this world. You see it every time that you look into your little sister’s eyes. You see it when you look at your friends in the Underground, and the love and care that they show the two of you—you two _humans_. Humans, who kill each other over wealth—a concept that has no value outside of what you place on it. Humans, who trapped the monsters underground out of irrational fear. Humans, the only thing that stand between them and their freedom.  
            They’ve only ever had your best interests at heart. Their selflessness, their pure-hearted goodness… it gives you hope. Hope that the world may yet be salvageable. Hope for your future. Hope for humanity’s future. Hope.  
Hope… something that Chara seems to be lacking. You concentrate on her, trying to figure out what drove her to all of this. Your soul can sense her pain. _That’s_ easy enough—her pain is overwhelming, like a tidal wave engulfing a single ant. You try to surf that wave as best you can, though, and search for something more specific.  
            “What are you doing?” Chara asks. You’d closed your eyes to help you concentrate, and you can hear her confusion in her tone. You can sense it at the same time, though, too—somehow, your soul seems to be picking up on it, and relaying the information to you.  
            “Ssh,” you say quietly. “I’m looking for something.”  
            Her confusion grows stronger. It glazes over her pain like oil over the ocean… but you disregard it. What she’s feeling right _now_ isn’t the issue—you need to go deeper. You need to find the root of her problems. You search for something that you can separate from the mass of hurt… something that will give you clues as to how to help her.  
            Because… yes, you want to help her. Despite everything that she did to you, to your family… you just can’t forget all the good times that two of you had together. She may try to deny it, but there’s no way that all of that could be fake. Even hostages bond with their captors—after spending that much time with you, even if she had never intended to befriend you… she can’t just feel _nothing_.  
            _Everyone goes down the wrong path for a reason. And if that’s the case… then_ everyone _can be revived._  
            With that thought, you feel your soul leave your body. There’s a power humming through you that you’ve never felt before, and with a sudden rush of energy, you dive into Chara’s ocean of pain. Chara gasps, and then there’s a flash of sky blue so bright that you can see it from beneath your closed eyelids. Your soul reaches out, and latches on to the first thought that it can find…  
  


  
**~Neglect~**   
**(It’s suggested that young or sensitive readers stop reading here. Skip down to the end for a synopsis.)**   


   
            _When you open your eyes again, the void is completely gone. You blink in confusion, and then carefully look at your surroundings, trying to figure out your whereabouts. You seem to be standing in a log cabin of some kind. You turn in a slow circle, and are more than a little surprised to find sunlight shining in through the cabin’s windows. You’re not sure how you managed to get out of the void—not to mention how you ended up in someone else’s house, and on the surface—but since thinking about it will just give you a brain cramp, you decide to push your questions to the back of your mind._  
 _Instead, you start to walk around the small two-room cabin, taking a closer look at it. The first thing you notice is how cluttered it is. Furniture is placed haphazardly throughout the main room, as if the owner had tried to stuff as much as they could into it, disregarding organization or even legroom. Seeing how small the cabin is, thought, you can’t blame them—if you lived here, you don’t think you could cope with sharing such a small place with four other people. And yes, you can tell that there are four people living here—there’s a small family portrait placed on the hearth’s mantle. When you take a closer look, you see that the cabin’s occupants are an older looking man, his wife, and his two daughters. You don’t recognize any of them._  
 _Something about the portrait strikes you as odd, though. First off, it’s painted. Knowing the effort that goes into paintings like this, you feel that no one would bother to do that nowadays. And then… their clothes are… strange. The man is wearing a powdered wig, and the women are wearing very stiff looking dresses and petticoats. You would say that the portrait had been made at some kind of historical convention, but there’s just something about it that tells you that isn’t the case. Maybe it’s the serious looks on the family’s faces, or the way they’re sitting straight enough for their backs to be used as rulers._  
 _You’re about to turn away, but then something else on the mantle catches your eye. It’s a book of some kind. The title reads_ “Farmer’s Almanac, 177X Edition.” _You stare at it for a moment, your eyes passing over the date again. 177X. Either this book is an antique, or…_  
            _You spin around, surveying your surroundings with a fresh eye. You don’t see any electrical outlets. Or electric lights. Or modern appliances. The kitchen has no microwave, or fridge, or even a sink—the only thing that distinguishes it from the rest of the room are its genuine wood countertops, and a wood burning stove… With the cooking appliances hanging from hooks in the wall, the whole setup almost looks like it’d been taken out of a museum display. The fur rug on the floor isn’t fake, like you’d originally thought, either—it looks like it was taken from a bear, and it still has its head attached._  
            _And then, there’s the finishing blow. There are two long rifles leaning against the wall by the cabin door, standing right next to a large pair of silver-buckle shoes. The guns aren’t kept in a gun locker, or even on a high shelf—they’re sitting against the ground, at the perfect height for a child to get their hands on it. Nowadays, that would have resulted in an instant call to child protective services._  
            _Somehow… you’ve been transported into the past._  
            _Before your mind can properly wrap itself around that little fact, you hear something. The sound is quiet, and for a moment, you think you may have imagined it. But then you hear it again—a faint whimper. Someone nearby is crying._  
            _The sound seems to be coming from the cabin’s adjoining room. Driven by the urge to help whoever it is the voice belongs to, you quickly follow the sound, reaching for the handle of the door that leads to the next room… only to retract your hand again in horror. Your hand. It’s… gone. Well, not_ gone _gone, but it’s not corporeal anymore, either—it’s turned completely white, and its form shifts like mist when you move it. When you look down at yourself, you find that the rest of you is the same way—your physical body is gone. Your entire form is white and shifting, like heavy mist. The sight of it somehow reminds you of Napstablook._  
            _You’re about to go into full-out panic mode (how did any of this even_ happen?! _), when you hear another whimper. Now that you’re closer to the sound’s source, you realize that the voice sounds young, and vaguely familiar. You grit your teeth, and go to open the door again. Your strange, ghost-like form doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that there’s someone on the other side of this door—someone that needs your help._  
            _Instead of making contact with the doorknob, you hand goes right through it. You gasp as you lose your balance, and then fall straight_ through _the door. Your landing isn’t exactly pleasant, and you groan in pain as you force yourself to your feet. It’s too bad that your new ghost-form doesn’t float—it might’ve come in handy at that moment. You get up and look around the room, expecting to find it occupied… but no one else is there. In fact, the room is basically empty except for a few beds—two twins and one queen, it looks like._  
            But I thought I heard… _you think._ Huh, that’s weird.  
            _Well,_ everything _about your current situation is weird. This newest detail is just icing on the cake. You’re about to go back into the other room, but then you hear the voice again.  This time, it’s coming from outside—the bedroom’s single window is open, allowing for the voice’s transmission into the house. You stare in the direction of the voice, gathering your courage. Then you run straight at the wall, your new found ghost-like properties allowing you to easily pass through it._  
            _You find yourself outside, in the middle of a wide open field. No, not just a field—a field of_ buttercups. _They stretch for nearly a mile or so away from the cabin in any direction, and then meet the base of an ancient-looking deciduous forest. The sun is shining cheerfully down, making the flowers almost seem to shine. On the distant horizon, the familiar shape of Mt. Ebott looms over the valley, casting its shadow on everything below it. You know this place. This is where you used to live. In the present, the spot you’re standing on now… is the center of Ebott City. The town hall is famous for its buttercup fields._  
            _You only have a moment to take all of this in. Because before you know it, you find yourself falling. You hadn’t been looking where you were going when you stepped out of the wall, and so had unintentionally stepped on some kind of exterior cellar. You fall through its wooden shudders, and the air is knocked out of you as you land stomach-first on cold, hard, stone._  
            _You gasp for breath and then move to sit up, every muscle in your body aching from the impact. You blink hard, trying to adjust your eyes to the sudden darkness. The only light in the cellar comes from a single hole on the wooden shudders, but even that single beam of sunlight doesn’t do much to help the inky blackness that surrounds you—dust is thick in the air, breaking up the sunlight and making your eyes water._  
            _Your first instinct is to try and get back out again. This place is intolerably dusty, and in the darkness, the stone walls almost feel as if they’re closing in around you. However, the cellar door is high above your head,_ way _too high for you to reach. There used to be stairs that led up to it… but those have been smashed to smithereens, sawdust and splinters littering the ground around you. You’re suddenly really glad for your new ghost-like form—if you had physically fallen from that height, and onto this mess of splinters and rusty nails… you would have been in for a world of hurt._  
            How am I supposed to get out of here? _you ask yourself, starting to panic._ Can I go through the walls again?  
            _You jump up and run at the nearest wall, hoping with all your heart that you’ll phase through it. You don’t. You collide with it at full force, so hard that you think you heard your nose crack._  
            _You cry out in pain and grab it, expecting to find yourself bleeding. When your hand comes away dry, you slowly let your hand fall. The pain fades away soon after. Again, you’re glad you don’t have a physical body right now. However, since you can’t seem to go through these walls, you can only assume…._  
            I’m trapped _, you think in horror._  
            _You numbly fall to the floor again, the shock stemming from this entire episode finally getting to you. You don’t understand what’s happening. Why aren’t you in the void? Why are you on the surface? How did you manage to time travel? Why do you look and feel like a ghost? And now, after everything else… you’re trapped._  
            _Tears well up in your eyes, your confusion threatening to completely overwhelm you. As tears start to slip down your cheeks, you open your mouth and take a deep breath, getting ready to cry out uselessly to someone who’s not even there. Before any sound can leave you, though, you hear another whimper. It seemed as if it came… from directly behind you._  
            **_You’re not alone down here._**  
            _You slowly turn around, and your heart twists when you catch sight of the voice’s owner. A young girl—no older than four—is huddled in the corner of the room, hugging her knees to her chest. Her head is pressed firmly against her knees, and her body shakes as she sobs into them, trying her best to stay as quiet as possible._  
 _She’s painfully thin—her elbows and knees are unnaturally knobby, and the porcelain-white skin of her face is pulled tight. You can’t see her face in her current position, but if you could, you’re fairly sure that you would be able to see her cheekbones. Her hair is matted and stiff with tears, completely unmoving from its place hovering above her shoulders. It’s obvious that she hasn’t had a shower in days, if not longer—not only is her hair in a sorry state, but her skin is covered in a fine layer of dirt and grime._  
 _Her dress isn’t much better. It’s at least one or two sizes too big for her, and it’s fraying at the edges. There are so many stains on it that you can_ barely _tell that the dress used to be green and yellow—even where the cotton material is clean, the pigments have faded so much from it that the dress is starting to turn a grey color._  
 _The girl’s feet are bare and bleeding—splinters from the destroyed stairs have completely torn them apart._  
 _The cellar stinks of urine and feces, and you think you can hear the pitter-patter of tiny paws echoing from somewhere in the darkness._  
            What… what is this? _you ask yourself numbly. You’re completely shocked by the girl’s appearance, so much so that your mind has drawn a blank._ Why is she… who…  
            _In contrast to what you’re seeing right now, your life seems almost happy-go-lucky. What had happened to this girl? Did she fall down here? No, the cellar shudders are closed. Even worse, they’re locked from the outside. Whatever had happened to her… it was_ intentional.  
            _You cross over to the girl, trying to find some words of comfort for her. The sight of her in such a bad place is breaking your heart, but you don’t know how you’re supposed to do anything for her—after all, you’re stuck down here, too. The only thing you have to offer her is your presence. You have no way of knowing how long she’s been down here… how long she’s been_ alone _._  
            _You can’t think of anything to say. You have no real way of relating to her, so anything that you could say would sound fake—all you can give her is empty reassurance, empty sympathy… So, instead, you go to put a hand on her shoulder. Predictably, you go right through her. You stare at your hand for a moment, and then at the girl. You try to say something to her, to get her attention. …Your voice doesn’t work. Your mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out of it._  
            _What kind of cruel world is this? Do you really have no option but stand here and watch this, unable to so much as comfort this poor little girl? You try talking again. When you continue to say nothing but silent words, you can feel tears start to well up in your eyes._  
            Why is this happening?!  
            _Unable to do anything else, you take a seat next to the girl, and pull yourself into a similar fetal position. The anguish that you can sense flowing from her is enormous, and it causes tears to spill unchecked from your eyes. Your mind goes completely blank as you wallow in the little girl’s pain, your eyes going unfocused as you stare, unseeing, out into the inky blackness…_  
            _You have no idea how long the two of you remain like that. In that cellar, you had no way to tell time. It could have been minutes, hours, days… no matter the time, though, it felt like an eternity. For all you know, you could have gone on sitting like that forever, until you eventually died from lack of water. However, that wasn’t to be. From beyond the cellar doors, you hear a voice. It’s gruff and deep—an older man’s voice. You’ve never heard it before. The girl, however, seems to recognize it._  
            _Her head shoots up from its place against her knees, a fevered look of desperation stretched across her painfully thin face. You turn to look at her, your numbed mind barely able to express curiosity at what she looks like. In the dim lighting, you can’t really make out much. There is, however, enough light to see her eyes. They’re ruby red, and reflecting the light as they are, they almost look as if they’re on fire._  
            _…You know those eyes._  
            …Chara? _you ask her. Of course, she can’t hear you._  
            _She scrambles to her feet, her entire body shaking with the effort of standing up. She’s so malnourished that even that small action takes an extraordinary amount of will power. She takes a few unsteady steps closer to the cellar door, and she’s swaying so badly that you’re almost certain that she’s going to fall over. Unfortunately, you were right. Once she’s directly under the cellar door, she collapses to her knees, her body shaking uncontrollably._  
            _You can hear footsteps from up above you, and you hiss in pain as the cellar doors are thrown open, casting a sudden blinding light all throughout the previously dark cellar. When your eyes adjust enough to see, you notice that Chara was completely oblivious to the sudden light change. She stares straight up at whoever it was that opened the cellar doors, hope shining at her eyes._  
            _“Daddy,” she croaks. “You—”_  
            _“I am no farther of yours, you wretched whelp!” the gruff voice exclaims. Chara flinches and cries out, having cut her leg on a rusty nail._  
            _“B-but…” she whimpers._  
            _“You are a_ monster _child,” he hisses, his shadow looming over her trembling form. “What else could you be, with eyes like those?! I did not sire you, nor did any other human. You are nothing but a reminiscence of those_ demons _that we cast under the Earth—a monster. Had you been born thirty years earlier, I would have been happy to seal you under the mountain with the rest of your kind! However, as the barrier has already been sealed…_ this _will have to do.”_  
            _“Let me out,” Chara whimpers. “P-please, daddy. I-I will be good, I promise. I will do the housework, and I will help mama with the cooking—”_  
            _“And have you poison us all?!” the man bellows. “No. You will remain down there, until you finally give in and perish for your devilish ways.”_  
            _“Daddy!” Chara squeaks._  
            _The man drops a bucket of water into the cellar, half of its contents spilling out across the ground from the impact. Chara wastes no time trying to soak it up with the corner of her dress, unwilling to waste a single drop. She puts the corner of her dress into her mouth, desperately trying to suck the water out of it._  
            _The man grunts in disgust and then drops two loaves of stale bread into the cellar, purposely hitting Chara square on the head. She cries out, and then scrabbles to pick up the loaves before the rats can get to them._  
            _“Pitiful,” the man mutters. “Monstrous and pitiful. Little beast!”_  
            _The door of the cellar slams, engulfing the two of you in darkness once again. Chara continues to stare up at the doors, her eyes flashing in the single beam of sunlight._  
            _“…Daddy?”_  
            _From the other side of the cellar doors, you catch fragments of a conversation._  
            _“We are ready to depart,” a young female voice says. “We have packed all of our belongings, and have prepared provisions for the journey.”_  
            _“Good,” the man says. “Has the coachman arrived yet?”_  
            _“Yes, he is waiting for us in his carriage.”_  
            _“Perfect.  It is about time we left this blasted mountain behind us.”_  
            _“Too many bad memories,” the girl agrees. “You fought in the war, did you not, father?”_  
            _“’Eye, that I did…. But you already knew that,” he man says. You can hear the sound of their footsteps as they walk away, their voices fading as they leave their house behind._  
            _“Tell us the story again, father. Please?”_  
            _“Alright, I will tell you as we ride,” he agrees. “It all began in the summer of 174X…”_  
            _Their voices are too muffled for you to understand the rest._  
            _Chara is still staring at the cellar doors, her face slack with disbelief. Then, she scrambles to her feet and pounds her fists uselessly against the cellar’s stone walls._  
            _“Daddy!” she cries. “Sissa! Come back!”_  
            _It’s useless, you know it is. They’re already long gone. After several minutes, Chara gives up on her banging and yelling. She collapses to the ground, gasping for breath. Then she refills her lungs, and prepares for one final cry._  
            _“_ DO NOT LEAVE ME HERE!”  
            _Her voice echoes off of the cellar walls, and as her voice eventually fades out, everything around you vanishes in a sudden wave of blue._  
  


~Void~

   
            When you blink your eyes open again, you’re back in the void. Chara has gone completely still from her place in front of you, tears spilling from her wide red eyes. One of her hands is desperately clutching at her chest, while the other is pressed hard against your head. Looking at her now… you have no problem seeing her being locked in a cellar. You take a quick glance at her legs. Even though her form is shifting and ethereal, you can make out faint scars crisscrossing them. You feel that the nail probably caused one of them. Seeing those scars, you’re starting to understand what had just happened. Somehow, you’d managed to see one of her memories.  
            _…But how?_ you ask yourself. _What did I do?_  
            The answer lies with your soul. Or rather… _souls_. Your soul is placidly floating in front of you, and at some point, Chara’s had exited her own mist-like body. You notice that it looks a lot like Frisks—it’s a similar size, and it’s the exact same shade of red. It’s glow, however, is significantly dimmer. In fact, you can barely tell that it’s red at all—with the void as a backdrop, it almost appears black. And then… there are the cracks.  
            Her soul is riddled with so many fractures that it’s constantly leaking determination, and it’s not hard to imagine that it’s about to splinter apart completely. Your own soul twists in sympathy for her, remembering the sight of that emancipated girl crying alone in the darkness. You can’t help but admire her perseverance, though—somehow, her soul continues to hold on, despite its mortal injuries.  
            However, none of those things really explain your strange visit to the past. Then you notice that Chara’s soul is flickering in a very specific pattern, its glow brightening and dimming in a rapid and very intricate dance. Sans had once told you that a soul’s glow changes in response to how a person is feeling—right now, the strange flickering is basically Chara’s soul’s way of telling the rest of the world that she’s upset. So no, that’s not what caused it. There’s something else that really interests you, though… and that is that _your_ soul is doing the exact same dance, in perfect sync.  
            Whenever Chara’s soul changes its pattern, your soul instantly changes to match. If her soul flickers more rapidly, so does yours. If it dims, so does yours. If it slows down, so does yours. On a hunch, you think that might be what caused you to see her memories—if your souls are displaying the same patterns, then it make sense to assume that you’re feeling the same things.  
            And right now… she’s feeling _extremely_ angry.    
            “What did you do?!” she roars. She lunges at you with outstretched hands, but she’s still so disoriented that you easily step side it. She tumbles to the ground, her soul obediently following her.  
            You want to stop and console her, to tell her that you understand, and that you know what she went through… but the truth is, you get the feeling that there’s a lot more to tell. That one memory you saw… it was just the beginning. You need to know more. You need to understand _everything_. Only then will you be able to give her the help that she needs.  
            As Chara gets to her feet again, you concentrate hard on her emotions, allowing your soul to guide you to them. Your soul’s glow dims as you lock onto Chara, and it emits a swath of sky blue energy, shaped not unlike a trail of smoke. It shoots towards Chara’s soul and tightly wraps around it, skin-tight like a medical bandage. As you watch, the glow of Chara’s soul brightens considerably, until its intensity exactly matches that of your own.  
Once again, you find yourself floating on an ocean of pain and suffering. And, once again, your soul starts to search for its source.  
            “Stop!” Chara cries.  
            Under layers and layers of generic pain, you sense something. You shut your eyes and reach out for it, willing yourself to enter Chara’s memories.  
            “No, wait—”  
  


**~Abuse~**

   
            _You find yourself standing in the entryway to a huge, luxurious mansion. Everywhere you look, you see immaculately polished white marble and walls with golden trim. Large paintings adorn the walls, and servants and slaves alike hurry back and forth from room to room. Looking at this place, you can almost_ smell _the wealth. You blink in confusion at the sudden change of circumstance. Chara had just been locked in a cellar, and left to die. Why were you now standing in the entryway of the rich and famous? You look down at yourself, and at the sight of your shifting, mist-like body, you’re reassured that you’re in the right place. You’re once again in Chara’s memories._  
 _Though how she got_ here _, you have no idea. You look around again, hoping to see the familiar red-eyed child somewhere in the crowd. You don’t see her. However, looking at the mansion again, you almost feel as if there’s something… familiar about it. You take a moment to think on it, trying to pinpoint the memory._  
            If you take away the paintings, furniture, and servants, and then put in an information kiosk right about… there, _you think,_ this would look exactly like… the town hall. In the future, this place becomes Ebott City’s town hall.  
            _The fact stuns you, and you take a moment to digest that fact. This is what the town hall had looked like, hundreds of years ago—back during Revolutionary War times. You can still remember some of the facts that your mother had forced you to pay attention to during the mandatory tour of the facility—you can’t remember the names, but basically, a wealthy businessman had bought up the property of the town’s founding father, and had built the town hall in the middle of his field of buttercups. The property of the town’s founding father… Chara’s log cabin had been in the middle of a field of buttercups. Wouldn’t that mean that_ he _…_  
 _The idea merits further investigation, but your train of thought is cut short when you spot a familiar shape in the crowd. A young girl is hurrying along, trying her best not to trip over the trail of the ridiculously fancy dress she had been forced to wear. From this distance, you’re too far away to tell for sure whether or not that’s Chara. Well, not by sight, anyway—judging by the reactions of the people around her, though (they take one look at her and then rush to get out of her way), you can guess that the girl has red eyes._  
 _You hurry after her, dodging left and right to avoid running into any of the oblivious house servants. None of them can see you, the way you are now. Since this is all just a memory, that makes sense… however, you aren’t sure whether or not you can bump into them. You decide that it’s better not to find out._  
 _Chara enters a room off the main hallway, and closes the door behind her. The sight of the closed door doesn’t dissuade you—you simply walk right through it. The room that you find yourself in now is small in comparison to the rest of the house, but still much larger than the living room of Chara’s old cabin. This is obviously her room—there’s a bed in one corner, and a lot of old-fashioned toys littered across the circular rug that covers the room’s hardwood floors._  
 _You can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of it. This is infinitely better than the cellar from before. It seems that Chara has found a good home, and is living a decent life. But then, why were you drawn here? You’d purposely been searching out the causes to her suffering—you don’t see any reason why living in a mansion would make her in any way unhappy._  
 _You look over at her, hoping that she’ll give you some clues as to why you were stopped here. Chara is silent as she crosses over to her bed, and sits down on it. She seems to be around eight or nine, now, and she looks like a completely different person than she did before. She practically_ glows _with a soft kind of beauty, and she seems to be very well cared for. She at least has enough to eat—unlike last time, you can’t immediately tell where her ribs are, and her face is a lot less angular._  
 _However, her eyes haven’t changed. They’re still the same ruby red, and they hold the same quiet tears. You watch her in confusion as they slip down her cheeks, and then fall silently onto her exquisite white dress. You don’t understand why she’s upset. What’s going on here that you can’t see? You sit on the bed next to Chara, hoping that if you stay close by her, you’ll soon find out._  
 _As she cries, you notice that she’s constantly checking a clock that’s placed on her nightstand. She seems to be waiting for something. Something… bad? You don’t know. As the clock nears nine ‘O clock at night, she sniffs and slides off of her bed, crossing over to an adjoining room. It seems to function as some kind of bathroom (though, seeing as it doesn’t have a toilet, it’s more like a powder room). Chara starts to wash away her tears in a basin that someone had left for her, desperately trying to rid herself of any signs that she had been crying. Then she pulls out a pretty silk ribbon, and starts to thread it into her hair._  
            _“If you’re cuter… they won’t hit you as hard,” she mumbles to herself. Your soul lurches in your chest, even though you aren’t entirely sure what she’s talking about._  
            _Then she hurries back over to her bed and sits with her back perfectly straight, and her hands folded daintily in her lap._  
 _Precisely as the clock strikes nine, there’s a knock at her bedroom door. Chara trembles at the sound of it, but manages to steady herself before it opens._  
 _“Mistress Chara, the master is requesting your presence in his study,” a servant says, offering Chara a slight curtsey. “Shall I accompany you?”_  
 _“That won’t be necessary,” Chara says, her voice carefully devoid of emotion. “You may go.”_  
 _The servant nods and then leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Chara grits her teeth, and her hands squeeze together from their place in her lap. The pressure seems to help her remain calm, because she soon relaxes, and in one smooth motion, gets up from her seat on the bed. You follow her as she walks out of the room, and then starts down one of the less populated hallways._  
 _A few turns later, there’s not a single servant in sight. The relative emptiness of this hallway strikes you as odd. The rest of the house is always so busy. Why isn’t this place? You nearly bump into Chara when she stops in front of a large pair of double doors. She stares up at them with something akin to foreboding in her eyes. Then she takes a deep, shaky breath, and knocks on the door._  
 _“Come in,” a voice calls._  
 _Chara opens the doors with trembling hands, and then enters the next room. You follow her in, and then stop again when you see just how big the “study” is. It’d be better named the ‘library.’_  
            Wow… so many books, _you think dazedly. If you were here in real life, this place could occupy you for hours on end…_  
            _You shake off your awe, and refocus on Chara. You’re here so you can learn how to help her. You can’t forget that._  
            _Chara quietly pads across the room, and stops in front of a large arm chair. It’s faced away from the two of you, and is placed directly in front of a large fireplace. It’s high-backed, so you can’t see whoever’s sitting in it._ _This strikes you as extremely cliché. However, seeing as you’re currently in the 18 th century, you suppose that it’s still technically a new idea._  
            _Chara takes another deep breath, and clutches at her dress._  
            _“I’m here,” she says quietly. “What is it you wanted?”_  
            _Whoever’s in the armchair chuckles. It’s a deep, grating sound that sends shivers down your spine. Something deep inside of you tells you that whatever’s going on here... it isn’t good. Chara needs to run. Now._  
            _“You know what I want,” the man purrs. He gets up from his place in front of the fire, and stalks over to Chara. He’s an older man—judging by the grey in his hair, you’d place him in his mid-fifties—and he’s obviously very well off. His clothes (though completely old-fashioned) are immaculate, and you have the strangest feeling that the buckles on his shoes are made out of real gold._  
            _As the man approaches Chara, she goes to take a step back. However, the moment she does, fear flashes across her face. She then replaces her stray foot, and remains rooted to the spot as the man circles her, a predatory smile on his face. He runs a finger along her jaw line, and then flicks a lock of her hair away from her face._  
            _“It is that time again,” he whispers, his lips barely brushing against her ear. “Come, let’s go have some_ fun _, shall we?”_  
            _“I-I’d rather not, sir,” Chara stammers. Her grip on her dress increases, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t even_ look _at the man—she keeps her gaze trained straight ahead._  
            _“Would you rather I put you back in the cellar, then?”_  
            _Chara flinches, and the man laughs at the terror that’s stretched across her face._  
            _“That’s right, my little pet,” he purrs, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Do not forget your place in my house. If you earn your keep, I allow you to stay here. If you do not… well, when I built over that dusty old cabin, I made sure to keep your cellar nice and damp for you.”_  
            _Chara shivers, tears forming at the corners of her eyes._  
            _“Do not forget—it is because of_ me _that you still breathe. If I had not bought this land, you would have perished in that hell-hole,” he continues. “But… you did not. I saved you, and I gave you a place here. You live a pampered life, filled with food, toys, clothes… anything that you so desire. All that I ask for in return…”_  
            _He leans in, and nips the very top of her ear. As Chara’s tears spill down her cheeks again, a lazy smile spreads across the man’s face._  
            _“…Is your body.”_  
            _The man runs his thumb along the neckline of Chara’s dress, a hungry gleam to his eyes._  
            _“Now… do you have any other complaints, my little_ monster _?”_  
            _Chara says nothing. Her eyes have glazed over, and she doesn’t protest as the man slips a rope around her wrists. Then the man slams her against the only clear wall in the entire study, and forces her arms above her head. As the sleeves of her dress fall, you catch sight of dozens of scars crisscrossing her arms. Some of them are still fresh, and blood starts to lazily make its way down her arms._  
            _When the man notices it, something dark and angry enters his expression. He slaps Chara across the face, and then leans in close. Chara offers up no resistance. She’s gone completely limp, as if the man’s touch had transformed her into nothing but a life-sized doll._  
            _“What have I told you about harming yourself?” he hisses. “You’re_ mine _. And it’s not nice to damage your master’s things, is it?”_  
            _Chara says nothing. All of the life has completely left her eyes, and her head lolls from the force of his strike._  
            _“Is it?!” the man repeats, his voice gaining volume. He backhands her, snapping her head in the other direction._  
            _“N-no,” Chara mutters. “It’s not nice.”_  
            _She sounds completely defeated. The man grins again, and licks away the blood that’s traveling down her arm._  
            _“That’s right. You will not do that again. Right, monster~?”_  
            _“I will not do it again,” Chara repeats, her voice monotone._  
            _“Good.”_  
            _The man lifts the hem of her dress, and runs his hand along the top part of her thigh. Chara shivers, but shows no other outward sign of emotion._  
            _“Now. To business.”_  
            _Throughout all of this, you’ve been rooted to the spot, completely overwhelmed by horror at the man’s actions. Everything about this is so… so_ wrong _, and happening so quickly… you’re in a state of complete and utter shock._  
            _When he completely exposes Chara’s panties, though, that shock gives way to a blaze of wrath. No matter what she’s done to you, you can’t just stand here and do_ nothing _! Your first instinct is to run over there, fists raised, and give the man exactly what he deserves, right in that one bulging spot that he most deserves it._  
            _You’re about to do it, too. You take a step forward, your fists clenched so hard that your fingers would probably break if you actually_ did _hit him. But then… you remember. This is just a memory. All of this… it’s already happened. You have no influence here. No matter what you do, it won’t have any effect on the outcome. You’re nothing but an onlooker._  
            _That thought completely extinguishes your anger, leaving only your lingering sense of horror and fear. Your hands drop limply to your sides, and you turn your head away as the man starts to shift down the last defense that Chara has to offer._  
            …I don’t want to watch this.  
            _And so… you run. Like a coward, you phase through the study doors, and bolt down the hallway you came from. You don’t get very far, though. Only feet from the doors, you run into something not unlike an invisible wall. You back up a few paces and try again, only to be met with the same result. There’s some kind of invisible barrier in place to keep you from leaving._  
            I don’t want to watch this!  
            _You run into the barrier again and again like a fly on a window, Chara’s muffled cries driving you to try again every time you fail. You only give up once your head starts to pound from the repeated blows. As a scream echoes from the study, you clamp your hands over your ears and slide to the ground, pulling yourself into the tightest ball that you can manage._  
            Why? She’s just a kid! Why her? Why this? No. No, no, no… this is wrong. All wrong. Just stop it! **_STOP IT!_**  
           _Even if your voice could be heard in this cruel, cruel world, you don’t think it would have made a difference._  
 _You want to leave. More than anything, you want to leave Chara’s memory, and save yourself from the trauma that you’re bound to be left with after all of this. But no matter what you do… you’re stuck. You can’t seem force yourself to leave. And if you can’t make yourself leave… you can only assume that the only way to get out of here is to allow the memory to play itself out._  
            _…For the first time, you find yourself longing for the empty blackness of the void._  
            _Nearly an hour goes by before the sounds from the other room die down. By that time, you’re shaking like a leaf, and your mind has been stretched to the breaking point._  
            _Footsteps echo from the hall behind you, giving you a welcome distraction from the horrors that had gone on in the study. You look over your shoulder, and find that two servants are approaching from the opposite direction. They stop just behind you, and seem to be waiting for something._  
            _The doors of the study fly open, and you suddenly find Chara sprawled at your feet. She’s completely naked, and she looks awful. Her little frame is heaving as she struggles to find her breath, and her blood—seeping from both old and new wounds—is slowly staining the marble floors red._  
            That _fucking_ pedophile.    
            _Such an unfathomable rage is flowing through you that if you had been there in person… you wouldn’t have hesitated to kill the man. You turn to look at him, and the sight of him wearing nothing but a pair of loose pants, that expression of lazy satisfaction on his face… it’s more than enough to send you over the edge. Despite knowing how pointless it is, you launch yourself at him, screaming a silent battle cry. You bounce off of him, like you had that invisible barrier that’s blocking off the hallway._  
            _“Wasn’t that nice?” the man asks, staring down at Chara’s limp body. “Did you have fun?_ I _sure did.”_  
            _When Chara doesn’t answer, he kicks her in the ribs. She groans weakly and curls into a fetal position, trying in vain to protect herself from the man’s newest assault._  
            _“Oh, what a shame,” he whines. “It looks like I broke my favorite toy.”_  
            _He kicks her again, and the force of it actually rolls her over. The man sighs and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, before turning to look at the servants. Throughout all of that, they hadn’t done anything. They didn’t even_ blink _. For them, it seemed, this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary._  
            _“She’s of no use to me anymore,” he tells them. “The slave traders are coming into town today, aren’t they? Give her to them. Don’t even bother trying to sell her—nobody would buy a slave so damaged.”_  
            _The servants nod their understanding, and they each take one of Chara’s arms, forcing her to stand up. She’s so weak that her legs can’t even hold her own weight._  
            _The man takes her chin in his hand, that predatory grin once more on his face._  
            _“Oh, and monster, sweetie?” he asks her. “Don’t ever tell anybody about our little… arrangement. If you do… I will come find you, and I will not hesitate to deliver you back into your father’s hands. Do you understand me?”_  
            _“Yes,” Chara croaks._  
            _“Good.”_  
            _The man studies her one last time, his eyes taking in every single inch of her bare, bleeding frame. When his eyes light on the ribbon in Chara’s hair, he chuckles. He reaches out to her and slowly pulls it out, dangling it in front of his face._  
            _“A ribbon. How cute,” he notes. He tosses it over his shoulder, and gives Chara one final slap to the face. Then he turns away, and gives the servants a dismissive wave. “Get her out of my sight.”_  
            _As the servants turn and march away, your vision starts to fade. You’re torn. You want to follow her and see what happens next, but at the same time… this is getting to be too much for you. You need a time-out._  
            _So, you’re kind of grateful when everything around you turns blue, and the details of the mansion start to fate into uncertainty._  
  


**~Suicide~**

   
            _Instead of finding yourself in the void again, like you were expecting, you transition right into another memory. You’re so frustrated that you could scream. You don’t_ want _to know any more. In fact, you can’t help but wish that there was a way for you to_ unlearn _everything that you’ve found out so far. That way, you could continue hating her for what she did to you. But now, after all of this—after going to such lengths to understand the depths of her hurt and pain? You’re starting to sympathize—no,_ empathize _with her. You want to help her. But seeing all of that… you’re_ way _out of your depth._  
            _…It would be so much easier if you could go back to believing she’s nothing but an irrational psychopath._  
 _You’re the one that started all of this, though. You have to see it through to the end. You owe it to her, and you owe it to yourself. You deserve to know what drove Chara to murder your brother._  
            _Knowing that there’s nothing you can do, and that at this point, you’re just along for the ride… you figure you may as well get the most out of it, and look at your new surroundings. You seem to be sitting against the side of some kind of covered wagon, along with at least twenty other women. They’re of all different ages, race, and color… however, they all have one thing in common. They’re all bound, rope tightly encircling their wrists._  
            _A familiar sense of horror echoes through you at the sight of it, and you go to stand up... only to find that you can’t. Panic surges through you, and you try desperate to move your arms, your legs, your head,_ anything _. Nothing happens. If you had control of your own lungs, you would probably be hyperventilating._  
            What’s happening?! Why can’t I move?!  
            _You can feel your arms and your legs, but you just can’t seem to get them to_ do _anything. You wish you could at least move your hands—the rope that’s binding your wrists is_ really _starting to burn._  
            Wait… rope? Bound?  
            _You look down at your hands (as well as you can without turning your head, anyway), and find that you… you aren’t made of mist anymore. You have a real, physical body again. But then, why can’t you move it? You try to flex your fingers, but to no avail—they stay curled in a fist, your nails biting into your palm._  
            _You know, you’ve never noticed it before… but you have really small hands. They almost look like a child’s._  
            …Wait a minute. These don’t look like… these aren’t my hands! This isn’t my body! Wha—what’s going on?!  
            _As the wagon passes over a bump in the road, “you” fall over. With “your” hands bound, “you” have nothing to catch yourself with, and so you end up getting a nasty bump on the head. The pain of it radiates all throughout “your” skull, and if you could move your facial muscles, you’d be wincing. You may not be able to control “your” body, but you sure can feel its pain._  
            _The other women in the wagon look on with dead eyes. It’s not that they don’t care about you—they’ve just lost all hope. They’re all in the same situation, and they have no way of helping you back up, anyway._  
 _Luckily for you, the body that you’re inhabiting fell in a way that it can see the road behind you. You can see a small village in the distance, and the yellow of a large field of buttercups._  
            ‘…It’s not moving very fast.’ _A voice echoes throughout your head, a voice that clearly isn’t your own._ ‘I might get bruised a little, but I could jump out. …And if I hurry, they may not notice I’m gone.’  
            _You recognize that voice. In some ways, you know that voice even better than you know your own._  
            …Chara? _you ask the voice. It doesn’t respond. Even though you may be inhabiting her body, you have to remind yourself that this is still just a memory. She can’t hear you._  
            _She continues to watch the road pass by. Being inside of her head as you are, you’re privy to what it is she’s thinking. At the moment, she’s trying to decide whether or not she should try and run. Does she take her chances with the slave trade, and hope against hope that she’s bought by a kind master? Or does she run, find the nearest town, and put her chances in the people she finds there? The slave traders are sure to chase her… but there has to be_ someone _out there that would help her. Either way, her life is now just a roll of the dice._  
            _Before she can make her final decision, one of the other women speaks up, apparently having noticed Chara’s unusual interest in the road behind them._  
            _“Don’t you do it, girl,” she says. Though you can’t see her from Chara’s current position, her voice betrays her age. “No good will come from it. Don’t you think we’ve tried that before?”_  
            _Chara becomes a little bit more uncertain. The woman seems to sense that, and continues._  
            _“They_ always _catch you. And when they do, they’ll beat you mercilessly,” she says. “It’s better in the long run if you just accept all of this. Just do what they say.”_  
            _For a moment, Chara’s thoughts go silent. Then, all at once…_  
            ‘I’m DONE being a puppet. I’m not going to let ANYONE manipulate me like that again! NO MORE!’  
  


***Chara is filled with DETERMINATION***

   
 _Chara shifts all of her weight towards the wagon exit, rolling herself towards freedom. She hits the road hard, but she forces herself to stay completely silent—the only sign of her pain is a slight watering of her eyes. Then she awkwardly gets to her feet and sprints off into the trees, her breath coming in gasps. The sound of the wagon stopping in the distance eggs her on, and as the shouts of a few men echo through the forest, you can feel panic start to grip her. She doesn’t turn back, though, and continues her bid for freedom._  
  


_***_

   
 _It takes the two of you the most part of an hour, but you soon stumble across a nearby village. Chara is panting hard by the time you reach it, and you can feel her legs and lungs burning with the effort of evading her pursuers._  
 _With her hands still bound, she rushes into the village’s common area. You can hear distant shouts from the forest behind you, and the sound of them galvanizes Chara further. She runs up to the first person she sees._  
 _“P-please ma’am, can you help me?” she asks the woman. She turns around, her eyes soft at the sound of a child’s frightened voice._  
 _“Oh course. What do you…”_  
 _The lady falls silent as she catches sight of Chara. Her eye flit over the bruises that litter her arms and legs, the potato-sack dress that she’s wearing, and then, finally… her eyes. The woman gasps and flinches away, her own eyes wide at the sight of Chara’s unusually red irises._  
 _“Wh-what_ are _you?!” she exclaims, taking a step back. “Those eyes… the last time I saw eyes like those… It took me months to rebuild my home! Get out of here,_ monster _!”_  
 _Chara shrinks back, shame and fear instantly overwhelming her previous rush of determination. All her life, people had always judged her for her eyes. From what’s running through her mind right now, you learn that it has something to do with the war… and a monster that had been known as the “iron sentinel.” This area had been ravaged by the iron sentinel, and he was known for his bright red eyes._  
 _Chara shakes the thought off, and rushes off to someone else._  
 _“Please, if you could just cut these ropes off of me—”_  
 _“Begone, demon!”_  
 _She tries another person._  
 _“Help me, please. They’re going to find me—”_  
 _“Leave me alone, or I’ll turn you to dust!”_  
 _Tears stream down Chara’s face as she gives it one last try. She approaches a young child, her own age. Surely, out of everyone in this town,_ they _would be willing to help._  
 _“E-excuse me—”_  
 _Before Chara can so much as say anything else, the child screams._  
 _“Red eyes! This girl has red eyes!”_  
 _The entire village goes dead silent. If there was anyone who was ignorant of Chara’s presence before… well, they’d just been given—quite literally—a red flag. Everyone turns as one to look in Chara’s direction, dozens of judgmental eyes landing squarely on the two of you. There are a few more seconds of dead silence. And then… someone throws a rock. It glances off of Chara’s shoulder, sending a bolt of pain all down her arm. Following that first attack, everyone else starts to abuse Chara. Rocks and bottles aren’t the only things being thrown—words like spears pierce Chara’s fragile defenses, completely shattering her tenuous resolve._  
 _“Demon!”_  
 _“Red eyes!”_  
 _“Freak!”_  
 _“Monster!”_  
 _Something inside of Chara breaks at the mention of that last word, and she flinches despite her attempts to remain emotionless. Why does everyone always call her that? What did she ever do to deserve it? Seeing her reaction, the others pick up the chant._  
 _“Monster!”_  
            ‘That’s right. I’m nothing but a monster.’  
            _“Monster!”_  
            ‘I’m trash. I’m worthless. I’m unsightly, useless, red-eyed garbage.’  
            _“Monster!”_  
            ‘I don’t belong here. No one _wants_ me here. …No one will _ever_ want me here.’  
 _“Monster!”_  
            ‘…I should just die.’  
            _The world almost seems to spin around the two of you. Chara is completely losing her grip, and starts to tremble uncontrollably as that word… “monster…” brings back unpleasant memories. She collapses to the ground, the people around her becoming nothing but a dizzying whirl of motion._  
            _“There she is!” a gruff voice exclaims, drowning out the chanting of the crowd. “There’s the little runaway! Catch her!”_  
            _The sound of the trader’s voice helps to get Chara out of her stupor. She struggles to her feet, and frantically scans the crowd. Whereas everyone else is keeping their distance from her, two men with rifles are barreling towards her at top speed. The moment she spots them, she turns on her heel, and sprints in the opposite direction. Ahead of you, a familiar mountain looms. Mt. Ebott._  
  


_***_

   
 _Your shared legs are aching. Your bare feet are bleeding. Your arms hurt from pumping them so hard. Your lungs and throat burn. Everything hurts. All of Chara’s old wounds have been reopened with the effort of running up the mountain, and you get the privilege of feeling every ounce of her pain. Chara has been running for nearly three hours, non-stop. Adrenaline had been coursing through the two of you, keeping you going even when your body felt it couldn’t take it anymore._  
 _Now, though… that adrenaline is running out. Trembling and panting, Chara is struggling to put one foot in front of the other. She desperately needs to rest. But her pursuers are older, faster, and healthier—she doesn’t have a moment to lose._  
            At least the ropes are gone, _you think dryly. Chara had tripped and fallen earlier, and the ropes had been miraculously cut by an unusually sharp rock._  
            ‘I can’t… go on.’  
            _Chara’s voice rings through your shared head. She’s on the verge of tears, and the feel of it is almost enough to bring tears to your own non-existent eyes. What had she ever done to deserve all of this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing._  
 _Chara stumbles and falls, the broken branches and pebbles sticking out of the dirt path biting into her exposed skin._  
            ‘I can’t… go on.’  
            _The sound of heavy footsteps through the forest’s underbrush echoes throughout the mountain. They’re catching up._  
            Come on! _you tell her, trying uselessly to encourage her._ Come on, keep going! Stay determined!  
            _In the distance, the sound of a clattering rock reaches you. Chara shifts her head from its place on the ground, curiosity driving her to look in the direction of the unusual sound. What she sees… looks like a gift from above. A cave. There’s a cave set into the side of the mountain. And a cave… means hiding places._  
            _With one last burst of determination, Chara manages to get to her feet. She no longer has the energy to run, but with what little energy she has left, she limps in the cave’s direction. The cave’s smooth stone floor feels nice and cool against her bare and bleeding feet, and the darkness around her is inviting, offering her the cover that she so desperately needs._  
            _The voices and footsteps of the two men fade as she goes further in, eventually disappearing altogether into the peace and solitude of Ebott cave._  
            _Eventually, Chara stops. You briefly wonder why, but then you take notice of the giant abyss that’s opened up before her. Sunlight from a hole in the ceiling filters down into the abyss, but not even_ that _is enough to show what mysteries lie at the abyss’s bottom. Chara shuffles forward to the very edge of the dangerous drop, staring down into the inky blackness. She can’t see anything past the first ten feet._  
            _You know this place. You’ve seen it only once, and the chances are that you’ll never see it again. Ebott Abyss—the entrance to the Underground._  
            _Chara realizes it, too. She numbly stares at it, unfeeling except for brief flashes of memory. She’s remembering all of those times her father had ranted about the war, and how she belonged under the mountain with “her kind.”_  
            _As she stares into the abyss… an idea starts to form in her head. It’s too muddled for you to see it clearly, but there’s so much negative emotion accompanying the fledgling idea that you can easily guess what it is._  
            _“No one would miss me,” she whispers aloud. “No one cares.”_  
            _She stares at it a little longer, her idea starting to take a more concrete form._  
            _“In fact… they’d all be_ glad _that I’m gone.”_  
            _Chara imagines herself taking one step too many._  
            _“There’s nothing left for me to lose.”_  
            _All it would take is one step. One step, and all of her pain would finally be over._  
            _“…Did I ever_ have _anything to begin with?”_  
            _A fall like that… is sure to kill her. It would be painless, unlike being in the servitude of another master like her last._  
            _“This world has nothing left to offer me.”_  
            _Just_ thinking _about falling makes her feel more at peace._  
            _“I should leave this world… and move on to the next.”_  
            _With silent tears running down her cheeks, she takes a slow step forward._  
            _“Even if I don’t die, there’s still more for me down there than there is up here.”_  
            _Her foot encounters nothing but empty air, and she tumbles into the darkness. For the first time since you first started to traverse her memories… she smiles. She closes her eyes and outstretches her arms at her sides, as if embracing the air as it rushes by her._  
  


**‘After all… I am a monster.’**

 

Author’s Note #2

   
            Okay, I don’t have too much to say. After all of that… what left is there to say? So, I’m just going to clear something up (something that a lot of you are probably a little bit confused about), and then add in the synopsis.  
            So, a lot of you are probably wondering how Reader-chan was able to enter Chara’s memories. The answer lies with her (your) soul—and more specifically, with her empathy trait. That trait not only allows her to sense other people’s emotions, but she also has an ability (no, it’s not magic—it’s just an unusual skill, like bending over backwards or being double jointed) called “soul synchronization.” It allows her soul to exactly mimic the soul wavelength of someone else, and puts her in such an extreme state of empathy that she can completely imagine _being_ the other person, complete with their thoughts, feelings, and even memories. Soul synchronization can also do a few other things, but you won’t find out about those until later.  
            Oh, and even if you DID read the chapter, I highly suggest reading the synopsis, too. There might be some clarifications of other things that you missed, and some facts that maybe weren’t clearly stated in the actual chapter. And, as always, I’m open to questions.  
             
            **Chapter Synopsis:**  
  
            Here’s what happens after you hit “neglect” in the chapter. Basically, Reader-chan enters Chara’s memories, and gets to see parts of her history before falling into the Underground. She’s taken back to the year 177X, about 30 years after the end of the war between the humans and the monsters.  
            The first memory that Reader-chan sees is of Chara when she’s around 4 years old. She’s locked in a cellar, completely neglected by her family. This is because her father had fought in the war, and was suffering from a form of PTSD—Chara’s red eyes reminded him of a monster (named the iron sentinel) that he had fought in the war. He locked her in the cellar from the moment that she was old enough to speak, only providing her the necessities to live. Then he completely abandoned her, and he and the rest of her family moved away, leaving her there to die.  
            After a brief intermission in the void (where Reader-chan realizes that she was in Chara’s memories, and that it’s her soul that allowed her to do that [see above]), Reader-chan is transported into another memory. She finds herself in a mansion. There she finds that Chara is living in relative comfort. However, it’s for a steep price.  
The master of the house bought her father’s old property, and found Chara by happenstance while he was tearing down the family’s old cabin. She was still locked in the cellar, and near death. He allows her to stay at his newly-built mansion, but only if she “earns her keep.” Or, in other words… if she allows the master to rape her on a consistent basis.  
            She doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. If she refuses, the man will throw her back in the cellar. After the master rapes Chara, harming her to the point of disfiguration, he sells her to a local band of slave traders, not having any further use for her.  
            In the next memory, Chara manages to escape from the slave traders, and runs to a nearby village, with the traders in hot pursuit. Because of her eyes, though, no one in the village was willing to help her. In fact, they abuse her further. Chara keeps running, climbing Mt. Ebott to try and escape her pursuers. She eventually finds Ebott Abyss, and, feeling that she has nothing to lose, attempts suicide. Her last words are ‘After all… I am a monster.’ That’s where the chapter ends.


	24. Creation of a Nightmare (Part 2: What Hurts the Worst)

 

 

Author’s Note

 

            Hey guys! So, uh… before we start, I just wanted to apologize for how long it took for me to write this. I prioritized MGE this time around, so I didn’t start writing it until later. And then, I had my AP homework to consider and stuff, so… yeah. :P

            Oh, and one more thing. This chapter should be fine for all of you to read. There are a few more mentions of self-harm and suicide, but all the terribly gruesome stuff is over with. So don’t worry—none of you should have any real reason to skip this one.

            That’s all! Have fun! (I can’t wait to blow some minds… hee hee hee…)

            *Evil laugh*

 

Your Perspective

 

            Now, after watching Chara jump, you _have_ to get a break, right? You’re going to wake up in the void, a very angry child standing over you with a kitchen knife and a taste for blood. You have to. If you keep going like this; if you’re forced to relive more of Chara’s awful memories, completely unable to interfere… you’re going to go crazy.

            But to your dismay, there’s no break forthcoming. _You’d_ asked for this. It was _your_ decision to dive into Chara’s head. And now… _you’re_ going to have to see it through to the end.

            Your soul singles out another memory out of Chara’s ocean of pain. And, to your surprise… it’s not a bad memory. Ironically, in her ocean of pain… there’s a small drop of hope. But then, that may not be a good thing.

 

**After all… there has to be hope for there to be despair.**

**~Hope~**

 

_Everything hurts. Every single atom of your being is throbbing to the time of your heartbeat, bruises and cuts alike dotting your exposed skin. That’s how you know that you’re back in Chara’s body. You can’t help but wish you were a ghost again—if you were, you’d have the luxury of being non-corporeal._

            _You’re laying face-first against something smooth and cool—probably rock. Beyond that, though, you don’t know anything about your surroundings. Chara’s awake, but just barely—she’s in a daze of pain and confusion, and hasn’t bothered to so much as open her eyes. You don’t blame her—your shared head is aching so badly that even processing these small thoughts is painful._

Well… _you think dully,_ at least she survived.

            _This specific brand of pain is something that you’re, unfortunately, very familiar with. The aching, the bruises, the lingering butterflies in her stomach, the disorientation… it brings back memories of your own fall into the Underground. Or, in her case… her attempted suicide. You’d been lucky enough to land on flowers, though, if you remember correctly. You briefly wonder why Chara hadn’t landed on them…_

_You’re not really thinking straight. The pain you’re in is causing you to focus on all the wrong things. You should be asking more questions. Like, for example… is Chara okay? You don’t think she has any broken bones, but the throbbing in her head could be serious._

_Chara shifts slightly from her place on the ground, as though testing out her muscles. Even that small movement brings a wave of agony, though, and she whimpers in pain. You get the feeling that she would have screamed… but she just doesn’t have the strength for it._

‘Why… why am I still here?’ _she asks herself numbly._ ‘I don’t… I don’t _want_ to be here.’

            _She whimpers again. This time though, it’s not from pain. Well, not a physical pain, at any rate. (Though there’s plenty of that.) No. This time, it’s her_ soul _that’s crying out._

‘Please… if there’s a god out there…’ _she silently pleads,_ ‘just **let me die**.’

            _If she had any more tears left to give, you feel that she would be weeping. However, in the absence of healing tears, she only has one thing left to rely on. Determination. And with that determination, she musters up all of her remaining strength, and stretches out an arm. She’s looking for something, anything, that can finally give her the end that she’s looking for. A knife would be ideal, but she knows full well that she’s not likely to find anything like that at the bottom of an abyss. A rock, however, isn’t out of the question._

_In the end, though, her search reveals nothing but pebbles, all of them too small to inflict any damage. As the last of her determination completely leaves her, she lets out all of her sorrow in one final cry. The air leaves her lungs, creating something like a chocked sob. Then she goes limp again, completely numb to the world around her._

_Suddenly, a voice echoes from up ahead. It’s not a voice you recognize, but at the same time… it sounds vaguely familiar._

_“It sounded like it came from over here…”_

_You can hear the clattering of pebbles as someone hurries through the ruins, their feet too soft to create any audible footsteps. As they draw closer, you can barely hear the sound of fur brushing against fur. It’s a sound you’re well acquainted with._

Maybe that’s why the voice is so familiar, _you theorize._ It must be Toriel.

            _Suddenly, the room falls completely silent. Then a gasp resounds through the room, and the ground trembles ever so slightly as the monster rushes towards Chara. They stop moving, and you can hear them breathing from directly above you._

_“H-hey, are you okay?!” the monster exclaims. That… that isn’t Toriel. Their voice is too high pitched. But then, why…? They sound so much like her._

_Chara’s completely withdrawn within herself, oblivious to the monster standing over her. When she doesn’t respond, the monster’s breath catches, and they crouch down. Soft, padded hands grasp Chara’s shoulder, and shake her gently._

_“C-come on, please wake up!” they exclaim._

_Something about their voice stirs Chara from her withdrawn state. She’s never been addressed this way before; with so much genuine concern and care…_

_Chara’s eyes flutter open. For a moment, everything is blurry. All you can see is a small, fuzzy white shape crouched over you. But then Chara’s eyes focus, and the image of the monster begins to sharpen…_

…It’s Toriel in miniature.

            _You know that can’t be true, but that’s still the first thought that runs through your head. Standing over the two of you is a young, goat-like monster, their rabbit-like ears and white fur reminiscent of Toriel. They, however, don’t have any horns, and their bright green eyes differ wildly from Toriel’s violet ones. However, there’s one thing that strikes you as especially interesting—the monster is wearing a green and yellow striped sweater, just like the one that Chara does in the present. …You don’t think that’s a coincidence._

_This is the first monster that Chara’s ever seen. You expect her to scream, or go into denial (like you had when you’d first fallen). But… nothing happens. Chara doesn’t so much as bat an eye. She’s too exhausted to muster up any kind of emotional response. Instead, she just stares at the monster, patiently awaiting them to make a remark about how strange her eyes are._

_“Oh, good,” they sigh, relief shining in their eyes. “You’re awake. For a moment there, I thought you were… but never mind that.”_

_A dull sense of confusion clouds Chara’s mind. Why is this person being so… so_ nice _to her? Aren’t they scared of her, like everyone else?_

_The monster looks Chara over, checking her for injuries. The more they see, the more concerned they become._

_“O-oh. You… you’re hurt really bad, aren’t you?” they ask quietly. “Did you… did you fall?”_

_Chara, again, doesn’t say anything. The monster’s question brings back unwanted memories. She can still feel the rush of air through her hair, the adrenaline surging through her veins… Chara sighs tiredly, unable and unwilling to sort through her emotions._

_“Sorry, that’s not a very good question, is it?” the monster asks, their voice softening even further. “Um… we should get you patched up. My mom knows healing magic—I can take you to her, if you want. Can you walk?”_

_Not knowing what else to do, Chara silently agrees to go with the young monster. With their help, Chara painfully manages to struggle to her feet. Then the two begin to make their way into the ruins, Chara leaning heavily on the monster’s shoulder._

_“Oh! I forgot to ask—what’s your name?” they ask._

_Chara’s still very suspicious of the monster, but they don’t seem to mean her any immediate harm, at least._

_“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. But it would be nice to have something to call you by—”_

_“Chara,” she whispers hoarsely. “I’m Chara.”_

_The young monster’s face lights up as Chara finally speaks, their eyes sparkling and a giant smile on their face._

_“Chara?” the monster echoes. “That’s a nice name. My name is Asriel. Asriel Dreemur.”_

_Suddenly, everything goes unfocused. Blurry, like you’re looking through a frosted window pane. For a moment, you think something might be wrong with Chara. But then you realize that it’s not her. It’s the memory; it’s speeding up._

_In a few moments, you find yourself confronted by Asriel’s mom—Toriel. She heals and patches up Chara. A blink of an eye later, Chara is introduced to another goat monster, one that you’re unfamiliar with. They’re practically a giant, towering even over Toriel. Putting two and two together, you decide that this must be Asgore, Toriel’s ex-husband and king of all monsters._

_Before you can so much as process this new information, time moves even faster, all of Chara’s memories playing as if on fast forward. Days pass by like water in a stream, her life acting itself out right before your very eyes. You watch as she slowly warms up to the Dreemur family, and her injured soul slowly learns how to trust again. You see her sitting in Toriel’s lap, listening in rapture to the goat mom’s lectures on monster culture and history. You watch as she tours the Underground with Asgore, meeting and befriending everyone that she comes across. You watch as she’s adopted into the Dreemur family, and is accepted by the entire kingdom as the princess of all monsters._

_And, most importantly… you watch as her and Asriel’s relationship blossoms. Though it took some time, and a lot of stubborn, unrequited love on Asriel’s part… Chara eventually opened up to him like she would for no one else. The two became fast friends, and later, siblings. Not a single day went by when the two wouldn’t play together, and they would talk long into the night in their shared bedroom, often keeping each other up long after Toriel’s prescribed bedtime. They were inseparable, two parts of a single whole._

_Chara would never be healed of her trauma. Far from it, in fact—she was plagued by constant nightmares, and there were days when her newfound family would find her crying for no reason. She often apologized for the smallest of mistakes, and was always overly careful to avoid from insulting or even annoying anyone. Her soul was damaged in ways that could never truly be repaired, and it shone through in more ways than anyone knew how to deal with. However, thanks to the consistent love of Toriel, Asgore, and especially Asriel… their presence in her life served to fill the holes in her soul that others had cruelly torn._

_For the first time in her life… Chara had a family. And with that family… came hope. Hope, and love—immeasurably deep,_ unconditional _love._

***

_It comes as a surprise to you, but Chara’s memories eventually return to normal speed. You have no idea how long it’s been since Chara had fallen down. It was at least months, but for all you know, it could have been years._

_You find yourself in her and Asriel’s bedroom, right in the middle of the two siblings’ ritual play session. They’re laying on the floor on their stomachs, the both of them completely absorbed in the incredibly delicate task… of finger painting. Nearly a dozen different pots of paint are scattered across the floor, along with a few stacks of old-timey paper. You can’t help but wince at the sight of it. Several of the paint pots are tipped over, their contents oozing across the bedroom’s stone floors. You can’t imagine that Toriel’s going to be happy when she sees the mess they’ve made._

_The kids, however, couldn’t care less. Asriel’s painting like maniac, his fur sticky with paint and his tongue sticking out in concentration. Chara’s also working hard on her own masterpiece. Your shared fingertips are actually starting to burn from the pressure she’s using to put the paint on the paper._

_For a finger painting, it’s fairly well made. It looks like… a fireplace. (Well… that, or a fire breathing dragon. It’s kind of hard to tell.) You can tell that she drew inspiration from the fireplace in the house’s living room—there’s a picture sitting on its mantle of her new family, and a rocking chair sitting a distance from the flames. You can also see a second, already finished painting sitting off to the side—it looks like a yellow flower of some kind. Chara must be proud of it—she signed her name at the bottom._

_“Hey, Chara! Look at this!” Asriel exclaims, holding up the painting he’d been working on._

_Chara looks up from her work, and can’t help but snort when she catches sight of Asriel’s creation. You can see why—you’re honestly not entirely sure what you’re looking at. There’s a vaguely goat-like figure on it… but it seems to be missing half of its body, its bottom half disappearing into black smoke. It has long, curved horns, and seems to be wearing black war paint of some kind. The figure is holding its hands out. In one palm, there seems to be a flame. In the other, there’s some kind of… gun? Or cannon? Again, it’s hard to tell when it’s finger paint._

_The most prominent part of the picture, though, is the strange creature’s rainbow wings. (Or at least you assume they’re wings. They look more like giant blobs of paint than anything.) They take up over half of the page, and were probably the result of carelessly mixing colors._

_“Pfft—what is that?!” Chara asks, trying desperately to hold back laughter. “It looks like a rainbow barfed on it.”_

_“Wha—Chara!” Asriel exclaims, genuinely hurt. “You can’t tell what it is?”_

_“Nope,” she says bluntly. “It looks really cool, though. What is it?”_

_“This is me,” Asriel says, a dreamy look in his eyes. “When I grow up, I’m going to be ABSOLUTE GOD OF HYPERDEATH. I’ll be invincible, and I’ll shoot stars and stuff. Oh, and I also have this really sweet rainbow cannon. See?”_

_“Rainbow… cannon?” Chara gasps, laughter bubbling up in her. “O-oh my god, Asriel. That’s—pfft—that’s just… oh my god.”_

_“Heeeey!” Asriel whines, his snout scrunching up. “I worked really hard on this…”_

_“I know, I know. It’s awesome,” Chara gasps, wiping away a few stray tears. “Even if it’s a total Mary Sue.”_

_“What’s a… Mary Sue?”_

_Chara freezes, a rush of bad memories suddenly coming back to her. She screws her face up and shakes her head, trying to shoo them away._

_“Oh, sorry—that’s uh… that was my sister’s name,” Chara mutters. “She was always so_ perfect _, and everybody… ugh. Never mind.”_

_Sensing that Chara doesn’t want to talk about it, Asriel quickly finds a way to change the subject._

_“So, uh… what’re you painting, Chara?”_

_“Me?” Chara asks. “Oh, it’s nothing special. Just our living room.”_

_She holds it up for Asriel to look at._

_“See? That’s our fireplace, and mom’s rocking chair, the family portrait…”_

_As she explains it, Asriel nods, making interested noises. There’s something that seems to bug him, though._

_“Hey, uh… Chara?”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“You know that fire is_ red _, right? I mean, it has yellow in it, but it’s not entirely yellow like that,” he points out._

_“…Yeah,” Chara says dully._

_“Oh, and on the portrait, you didn’t color your eyes in right,” he continues. “They’re red, not black.”_

_“…”_

_Chara falls silent, numbly staring at her small, painted form. If it had been up to her, she wouldn’t have colored the eyes in at all. A wave of anger suddenly rushes over her, unwanted thoughts running through her mind at the mention of her eyes. She grits her teeth, and begins to crumple up her paper._

_“Ch-Chara! What’re you doing?!” Asriel exclaims. “That was really good! Don’t ruin it!”  
            Asriel grabs the painting, and forcefully tries to wrestle it out of her hands. Chara fights back, her eyes starting to water. _

_“Let go!” she cries._

_“No! I won’t let you ruin it—not after you worked so hard on it!”_

_“Let go!” she repeats._

_“No!”_

_The two struggle for a little while longer. Then, with tears streaming down her face, Chara leans backwards with all of her strength, desperate to get the imperfect painting out of Asriel’s hands. Suddenly, the paper gives way, tearing straight through Chara’s little painted form. The real Chara tumbles backwards from the sudden release, her painting smearing as it comes in contact with her face._

_“Oh no!” Asriel squeaks, reaching out for her. “I-I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—oh geez—are you all right?!”_

_Chara doesn’t say anything. Instead, she quietly rights herself, and pulls the paper away from its place plastered against her nose. She looks down at her ruined painting, and then drops it like a hot iron. The portrait Chara’s eyes have started to drip, black paint lazily running down her cheeks. The sight of it is ominous, and makes your chest inexplicably tight._

_Chara kicks the spoiled paper away from her, and quickly wipes her face on the sleeve of her newly made green and yellow striped sweater. She’s interrupted by a hug from Asriel, whose own eyes are also starting to look a little bit misty._

_“I’m so sorry!” he cries. “It was perfect, Chara! I don’t care if colors were weird—just look at mine!”_

_Chara sighs, her arms falling to her sides as she lets Asriel hug her._

_“I just… don’t like the color red,” she mutters. “That’s all.”_

_Asriel draws back, his hands still on her shoulders. He looks… confused._

_“Why?” he asks._

_“I just don’t, okay?!” Chara snaps._

_Asriel flinches back, as if he’d been slapped. A pang of guilt instantly surges through Chara at the sight of it, and her gaze drops away from her brother’s in shame._

_“Sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t mean to yell.”_

_“But… why?” Asriel asks again. “It’s just a color.”_

_Chara sighs heavily, and draws a hand across her eyes._

_“It’s nothing Asriel. Just forget about it.”_

_Asriel stares at her, a thoughtful look on his face._

_“Is this… about the humans?”_

_Chara winces, and her eyes automatically start to tear up again._

_“Just_ drop it _, Asriel,” she mutters._

_“No,” he says firmly._

_Chara falls silent, and you can feel her body trembling ever so slightly._

_“…You shouldn’t hate the color red, Chara,” Asriel says softly, taking her hands in his. “Because if you do… you’re hating yourself.”_

_“What do you mean?” she asks dully, unfeeling._

_“Your eyes are special,” Asriel continues. “Mom says that most humans usually only have brown, blue, green, or hazel eyes. Right?”_

_Chara nods._

_“I asked her about your eyes, once. And do you want to know what she told me?”_

_Chara doesn’t respond, but he continues on anyway._

_“She told me that the eyes are a window into the soul. For most people, it’s just an expression. But for you, it’s the truth,” he says. Chara slowly looks up at him, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “Your eyes aren’t the only part of you that’s red, Chara.”_

_He pokes her gently in the chest, and gives her a warm smile._

_“Your_ soul _is red, too. Your soul—everything that you are—is red. And you know what? It’s perfect for you. Red is a beautiful color, just like you’re a beautiful person. Inside and out.”_

_Chara puts a trembling hand on her chest, a wash of conflicting emotions tumbling through her head._

_“Of course. Even my dumb_ soul _is red,” she mutters. “That’s just_ perfect _.”_

_“Chara, that’s not what I meant—”_

_“I know. I know you meant well,” Chara sighs. “Don’t blame yourself for my petty crap, Asriel—it’s the humans’ fault for messing me up. Not yours for triggering me.”_

_Asriel falls silent and watches her as she goes back to painting, acting as if nothing had happened._

_“Chara… what exactly did they… what did they do to you?”_

_She doesn’t so much as look up at him, instead preferring to keep her attention trained on her paper._

_“They did a lot of things, Asriel,” she says simply. “But none of them are worth talking about.”_

_“But I want to know, Chara,” he presses. “Why do you hate humans so much?”_

_“…”_

_“Ok, so you don’t want to talk about it,” Asriel sighs. “That’s fine. I just… can you answer_ one _question for me, at least?”_

_She looks up at him, silently telling him to go on._

_“…Why did you fall down here?”_

_Chara instantly refocuses on her paper, his question uncomfortably close to home._

_“It wasn’t… it wasn’t an accident. Did you…?”_

_“Did I attempt suicide?” she finishes, her voice a little bit harsh. “Yes. Yes, Asriel—I wanted to die, okay? The humans rejected me as one of their own, and it eventually drove me to jump into an abyss. Now you know. Are you happy now?”_

_Her voice breaks at the end, and she grits her teeth painfully hard._

_“Wha—no, Chara! Happy?! Of course I’m not happy that you… oh, geez. Chara, I just wanted you to… I thought that by talking about it, you’d—”_

_“What, that I’d_ feel _better?” she asks sarcastically. “Hah. Yeah, sure, thanks. I feel_ great _now. Thanks for reminding me that my kind is the scum of the Earth.”_

_“Chara, I never said—”_

_“Don’t. Just… don’t, okay? Humans are evil. That’s it. There’s no room for discussion. Monsters are good, and humans are evil. That’s all there is to it.”_

_“…This is going nowhere,” Asriel sighs, giving Chara a long look. “Why don’t we do something else for a while?”_

_Chara sighs heavily, and runs a hand through her hair._

_“Yeah,” she agrees tiredly. “I think I’m done with finger painting for now. What do you have in mind?”_

_“Well, remember that one time when mom said that we should start learning how to cook for ourselves?” he asks._

_“Yeah, I do. You refused to do the dishes that night, and she got mad at you.”_

_“Hey! C’mon Chara, you know that wasn’t my point.”_

_“Okay, okay. What about it?”_

_“Well… we should learn how to cook. Mom keeps her recipe books above the stove, right? We could try to make something,” he suggests. “Oh! And I know exactly_ what _, too. Dad’s coming home from a trip to Snowdin today, and you know how much he likes mom’s butterscotch-cinnamon pie. We should make one for him, as a welcome home present! What d’you think?”_

_“…Sure. Sounds like fun.”_

***

_The two siblings moved into the kitchen, and then proceeded to make it into a disaster area, just like they had to their bedroom. In the process of concocting their pie, they’d managed to get flour and egg on every single flat surface… including the ceiling. Asriel had been practicing his magic, and had accidentally sent the first batch of dough flying. And yes, you do mean_ first _. This is now their third or fourth attempt trying to make the crust. (These two have a ways to go before they become gourmet chefs, that’s for sure.)_

_“Okay. That’s everything. Now all we need are the buttercups,” Asriel proclaims._

_“…Wait, are you sure?” Chara asks suspiciously._

_Chara takes Toriel’s cookbook from her adoptive brother and squints down at it, trying hard to decipher the hand-written recipe. It’s all in cursive, and she’s finding it extremely hard to read. It looks like someone took a spaghetti noodle and tried to write directions with it._

_“Yeah. See, it’s right there—buttercups,” Asriel says, pointing to an underlined section of the recipe._

_“But… buttercups? Don’t you think that’s a little bit weird?”_

_“Well… I dunno. Maybe? I mean, mom says that there are a lot of edible flowers out there. Like daisies, or nasturtiums. Buttercups are probably edible, too.”_

_“Oh. That makes sense,” Chara says. “But, uh… where would we find them? The only flowers I see growing down here are echo flowers.”_

_“Hee hee!_ I _know a place,” Asriel says, looking extremely pleased with himself. “When mom and dad first came down here, dad brought a bunch of flower seeds with him. Most of the flowers died down here—something about bad soil, and not enough sunlight—but we still have a few buttercups left! He’s keeping them in the basement, I think. I’ll go get a few of them, okay?”_

_“I dunno, Asriel. It sounds like those flowers might be kinda important,” she says hesitantly. “I mean, if dad’s working that hard to keep them alive, then they must mean a lot to him…”_

_“Don’t worry about it, Chara!” he exclaims. “Dad just really likes yellow flowers. Oh, and I’ll only take a few. Besides, we’re doing this for_ him _, right? If we get in trouble for the flowers, we can just give him the pie as an apology.”_

_“Well… alright,” she murmurs, giving in. “But this was_ your _idea; not mine. If we get in trouble, I’m blaming you.”_

_“Okay!” Asriel says brightly. “I’ll go get the flowers. Meanwhile, you can work on making the dough pie-shaped, okay? I’ll be in charge of the stuffing when I get back.”_

***

_Asriel got a hold of the flowers surprisingly quickly, and was back within a few minutes to help Chara with the rest of the pie. After a few attempts, it turned out okay. In fact, it didn’t really look any different than a normal pie, which was surprising, considering that buttercups were the main ingredient._

_You weren’t entirely sure about all of this. You’re pretty sure that the main ingredient of butterscotch-cinnamon pie is_ butterscotch. _You don’t think buttercups are even edible… but you may be wrong. You’re not a nature whiz like Frisk is. If she were here, she’d be able to tell you if you could eat them or not. But in any case, the buttercup pie was made, and it was on its way to Asgore._

_“I’m home!” a deep voice called, a door opening in the distance._

_“He’s home!” Asriel exclaims, a broad smile on his face. “Quick, Chara, go set up the table! I’ll make sure that he doesn’t come in until you’re ready.”_

_Chara, having warmed up to Asriel’s plan to surprise their dad, nods enthusiastically. She carefully cuts up the pie as Asriel runs out into the foyer. You can hear his squeal of excitement, and you can hear Asgore grunt as he’s nearly knocked over by his son._

_“Woah!” Asgore exclaims. “That was quite the jump, Asriel.”_

_“You’re home!” Asriel squeals._

_“I am,” Asgore says, his deep chuckle resounding through the house. “Where is the rest of my welcoming committee, hmm?”_

_“Mom’s out right now, and Chara’s… um… in the middle of something.”_

_Chara, having finished cutting the pie, hurries into the other room, and sets it on the family’s dining table. Then she rushes back into the kitchen, struggling to reach the adult-height cabinets that hold the dishware._

_“I see. Perhaps we should go and help Chara—”_

_“No!” Asriel exclaims. From his place on his dad’s back, he pulls on Asgore’s horns as if they’re reins, keeping him from moving into the kitchen. Asgore grunts, and gives his son an inquisitive look._

_“Asriel, we have talked about this. Do not pull on my horns, please.”_

_“S-sorry,” Asriel says meekly. “Just… don’t go into the kitchen yet, okay?”_

_“Hmm… that sounds suspicious. Are you doing something you should not be, my son?”_

_“No! I promise, it’s nothing bad. Trust me, just wait a sec, okay?” Asriel says. “Um… uh… how was Snowdin?”_

_“Ah, yes. Snowdin. I met with several of the monsters that live there, and they seem to be living quite happily. They are still in the process of constructing a few buildings, but for the most part, they all have homes, and are settling in nicely,” Asgore tells Asriel._

_“That’s great!” Asriel says._

_Chara’s finished setting the table for one. She and Asriel had earlier agreed that the pie was only for their dad—this was something that they’d made specially for him. (Though Asriel was quick to say that if there were leftovers, they could help themselves.)_

_“Hey, you guys can come in, now!” she calls, smiling to herself. She can’t wait to see their dad’s reaction._

_“Yes!” Asriel squeaks. He slides off of his dad’s shoulders, and then grabs one of his oversized hands. “Come on, come on!”_

_“My goodness, Asriel! I am coming—no need to pull so hard!” Asgore exclaims, a smile on his bearded face. “What has you all riled up, hmm? What have you two been up to?”_

_When he rounds the corner, Chara jumps out at him with a huge smile on her face._

_“Surprise!” she exclaims. She gestures dramatically at the table, where the still-steaming pie is sitting. “We made you a pie!”_

_“Yeah!” Asriel pipes in, running around to face his dad. “It’s your favorite, too—butterscotch-cinnamon!”_

_Asgore’s eyes light up, and an enormous grin breaks out on his face._

_“This is for me?”_

_“Yep!” the two youngsters reply, their voices in perfect sync._

_“And you made it all by yourselves?”_

_“Yep!” they say again, casting proud glances at each other._

_“I am very impressed, you two,” he says. “That is quite the accomplishment for such little ones.”_

_“Wha—little?!” Asriel exclaims, a look of absolute rage on his face. “I’m not little! Dad, I’m 12! I’ll have you know that my horns are going to come in next year, and then—”_

_Asgore crouches down so that he’s on Asriel’s level, and then pokes him gently in the stomach. Asriel’s so surprised that he ends up… bleating? You guess? I definitely sounds like something those goats in petting zoos would do._

_“BAAAAA!”_

_“Pfft—ha ha ha! Oh my god, Asriel—again?!” Chara exclaims. Then she gets in on the fun, and gently pulls Asriel’s tail._

_“BAAAAA!” he bleats. He jumps nearly three feet into the air, and immediately spins around, protecting his sensitive rear from his traitorous sister. “Ch-Chara! Why’d you do that?!”_

_Chara completely cracks up, laughing so hard that she has to lean on the table for support. You can hear Asgore chuckling as well, but it’s a much deeper, low-key sound. If you hadn’t been so intent on observing every detail, you would have easily missed it._

_“Chara, you should not pull your brother’s tail,” Asgore says, trying desperately to keep a straight face._

_“Oh, c’mon dad—you’re laughing too. Stop trying to hide it.”_

_“…You got me. That was… somewhat humorous.”_

_“Daaaad!” Asriel whines, spinning around to face the giant goat monster. “Not you too!”_

_Asgore pats his son gently on the head. At first, you think that it’s a fatherly gesture, but then, the king of all monsters gets an uncharacteristically mischievous look in his eye._

_“…Still no horns,” he says teasingly._

_Asriel’s eyes widen, and his cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink beneath his fur._

_“You know what? I’ll just eat the pie myself!” Asriel exclaims, marching pointedly over to the table. “A meanie like you doesn’t deserve it.”_

_“I-I am sorry, my son,” Asgore says quickly, hurriedly getting to his feet and cutting him off before he can reach the table. “I only meant to have some fun with you. Forgive me, please.”_

This guy must really like his pie, _you note, amused._

_Asriel stares up at him for several moments, his cheeks puffing up as he carefully considers his dad’s apology._

_“Fiiiiine,” he sighs eventually, rolling his eyes. “But you’d better hurry up and eat it—it’s getting cold.”_

_“Of course, my son. I would not want to let all of your hard work go to waste,” Asgore says, sitting at the table. When his children don’t sit down along with him, he seems confused. “Are you not going to join me?”_

_“It’s just for you,” Chara says, speaking in place of Asriel (who’s still a little bit upset.) “We wanted to do something special for you.”_

_Asriel snorts, and looks away. Chara rolls her eyes and elbows him in the side._

_“Riiiight, Asriel?”_

_“Right,” he sighs. “We made it special for you—and besides, we know how you are. Big monsters have big appetites, right?”_

_It’s Asriel’s turn to make fun this time. He crosses over to his dad and gently punches him in the gut._

_“Oof!” he exclaims, surprised by the sudden impact. “If my ears do not deceive me, I think you just called me fat, son.”_

_“What?” Asriel says, his smile giving away his intentions. “No, of_ course _not! I’m your_ son _. I would_ never _say something like that…”_

_“He meant to say that you’re a little on the tubby side,” Chara chirps, grinning mischievously at her brother._

_“Hey—Chaaaara!”_

_Asgore chuckles good naturedly, and watches as the two siblings bicker with each other._

_“Alright, alright you two,” he says. “That is enough. Now, you are probably both anxious to see how your creation turned out, are you not?”_

_“Yes!” they both exclaim._

_They both crowd around their dad as he takes a piece of the pie, and then cautiously tries a bite. His face screws up the moment that it touches his tongue, but he quickly tries to downplay his disgust; using the skills that every good politician has, he manages to control his emotions, and make his face go deadpan. You notice, however, that he didn’t chew before he swallowed. (Guess he’s just trying to get it over with.)_

_“How is it?” Chara asks, excited._

_“It was… very good,” Asgore says, lying through his teeth. “What kind of pie did you say this was, again?”_

_“Butterscotch-cinnamon,” Asriel chimes. “Why, couldn’t you tell?”_

_“O-of course,” Asgore says. “And it is delicious.”_

_To prove his point, he wolfs down the rest of the piece, trying desperately to keep from spitting it back out again. (You don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone eat so quickly in your life.)_

_“However, I was under the impression that we were out of butter. Did you go out and get some with your mother today?”_

_“Uh… butter?” Asriel asks Chara quietly. “Did the recipe call for butter? I don’t remember seeing it.”_

_“Me neither,” she replies under her breath._

_“Well, whatever the case, you two did a… good job,” Asgore says tiredly. “There is some room for improvement, however. You should keep practicing.”_

_“Okay!” Asriel says brightly. “See Chara, I told you it’d be fine. He didn’t get mad, even though we used his buttercups.”_

_“Son,” Asgore says quietly. “Did you just say… buttercups?”_

_“Yeah,” Chara says, answering for him. “The recipe said that we needed buttercups, so Asriel went and got them from your little garden in the basement. That’s okay, right?”_

_“Chara, my child… butterscotch pie does not call for buttercups, but cups of butter. In fact, buttercups are poisonous—sometimes even… even…”_

_Asgore winces, sweat breaking out across his forehead. Then he groans and doubles over, clutching at his stomach. The two siblings take a step back, fear suddenly finding its way into their hearts._

_“A-Asriel,” Asgore stammers, his voice strained. “Go… find your… your… find your mother.”_

_“W-what? Why?” Asriel says, his voice shaking._

_Asgore groans again, and tries to stand up. It doesn’t end well. He sways dizzily, and then ends up collapsing to the floor. Chara’s eyes widen as she suddenly finds her dad at her feet, and you’re fairly sure that you felt her heart stop. Terror is quickly taking a hold of her mind, along with a crushing sense of guilt._

_“A…Asriel,” Asgore pants. “Go. Quickly.”_

_Asriel, looking as terrified as Chara feels, nods quickly and scampers away, his arms pumping as he sprints towards the hotlands._

_“W-what’s happening?” Chara asks shakily. “Are you okay?”_

_Asgore groans again and curls into a ball, sweat running freely down his forehead. Seeing him in such a state is sending Chara into a panic. She clutches at the hem of her sweater, trying to force her hands to stop shaking._

_“…Dad?” she asks, her voice breaking._

_“Do not… do not worry, my child,” he gasps, his hands tightening around his sides. “I will… I will be fine.”_

_Chara doesn’t believe him. And, to be honest, neither do you._

_Down the hall, a door bursts open. Toriel barrels into the house, a panting and exhausted Asriel at her heels._

_“Gorey!” she exclaims, a look of horror on her face. “What happened?!”_

_“W-we baked a pie for him, but your handwriting was really hard to read, and so we accidentally mistook ‘cups of butter’ for ‘buttercups,’” Chara rushes, eyes wide in fear. “H-he ate a piece, and then just… collapsed. I’m so sorry mom! I-I didn’t know—”_

_“Chara!” Toriel exclaims, whirling to her. “You fed your father buttercups?!”_

_“I-it was a-an accident,” she says meekly, shrinking back. “I-I’m sorry…”_

_“I cannot_ believe _you!” Toriel thunders, towering over her. “_ Buttercups _, of all things?! Do you not have an ounce of common sense in you at all, young lady?!”_

_“Mom, it was_ my _idea,” Asriel murmurs, tugging at the sleeve of Toriel’s robe. “Don’t yell at her. She thought it was weird, but I didn’t listen to her. It’s_ my _fault.”_

_Toriel rips her sleeve out of Asriel’s grasp, and acts as if she hadn’t even heard him. Then she huffs in frustration and crouches next to her ailing husband, muttering angrily under her breath. Purple light dances in the air as Toriel works her healing magic, her eyes screwed shut in concentration. Asriel silently crosses the room and stands at her shoulder, watching in apprehension to see whether or not it’ll work._

_You would think that Chara would feel something,_ anything _, in the light of everything that’s just happened. But that’s not the case. Everything, from her thoughts to her emotions, have gone completely silent. She stands a little ways behind the three monsters, unfeeling as she watches the three of them silently offering each other support. She’s completely numb, her hands hanging limply by her sides._

_You can feel her eyes training not on Asgore, but on all three of the goat-like monsters. She’s noting how similar they all are, how much love she can sense between the three of them. Anyone would be able to tell that they’re a family. But… there’s something missing. Why isn’t she up there with them? Isn’t she a part of their family, too? A sudden pang of loneliness surges through Chara’s soul. Toriel had yelled at her. And now, she’s been excluded. It may not even be conscious on their part, but they’ve formed a protective ring amongst themselves, blocking out anyone who may further harm Asgore. Blocking out… her._

_Chara gently hugs herself, trying to keep those thoughts at bay._

‘I’m just overreacting,’ _she tells herself._ ‘It’s just my stupid, messed up mind that’s telling me those things. That doesn’t mean they’re true.’

            _The flickering magic around Asgore dies, and Toriel sighs in defeat._

_“Mom, how is he?” Asriel asks, looking up at his mom with tears in his eyes. “Is he going to be okay?”_

_“Yes, my child,” she says tiredly, running her hand comfortingly through Asriel’s fur. “He will be fine. All he needs is a little bit of rest.”_

_“That’s good,” Asriel sighs, looking relieved._

_“Help me get him into bed, Asriel,” she says. “I will take one arm. Can you take the other? And Gorey, can you stand?”_

_“I… I think so,” he replies, his pain obvious in his voice._

_“Okay. On three,” Toriel says softly. “One, two… three.”_

_Asgore groans as they help him to his feet, and his breathing is heavy as they slowly make their way towards his bedroom._

_Chara, feeling pathetic and useless, sheepishly walks behind them, her hands folded carefully behind her back._

_“Mom… is there anything I can do to help?” Chara asks quietly, hanging her head._

_Toriel stops and glances back at her, an unreadable expression on her face. Chara looks up at her, hope briefly shining through her uncertainty. Everything was going to be okay. This was her_ mom _she was talking about. She would never—_

_“My child…” Toriel says slowly, her voice heavy and tired, “go to your room.”_

_Hurt completely extinguishes Chara’s brief ray of hope, and she recoils as if she’d been slapped. Without another word, Toriel turns away and continues down the hall, whispering encouragement to her husband and son. Chara remains rooted to the spot, and she watches as her family continues on without her, disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door behind them. None of them give her so much as a second thought. Not even Asriel, who was always at her side._

_Just like that, she’d been rejected._

‘…I’m not a monster,’ _Chara thinks dully._ ‘I’m not one of them. And I’m not a human, either. But then… what am I? Who am I? Do I belong here? Do I… do I belong _anywhere_?’

            _Chara continues to stare at the door that leads to Asgore’s room, the muffled voices on the other side nothing but white noise to her rapidly destabilizing mind. She clutches at herself, holding herself tightly to try and keep from breaking down completely._

‘I… I’m me. I’m Chara.’

            _She chuckles to herself, and a wide smile breaks out on her face._

‘I messed up. This is all my fault. Everything is _always_ my fault,’ _she thinks. She hugs herself so hard that you can feel bruises start to form on her arms._ ‘They’re right to be angry at me. I don’t belong here, or anywhere. I should have just died when I had the chance.’

            _She starts to laugh, her shoulders shaking as tears roll down her cheeks._

‘If I had died then, I wouldn’t have poisoned him,’ _she tells herself._ ‘…Poison. I poisoned him. I’m not a human, and I’m not a monster… but I know what I am, now. I’m poison! Nothing good will ever come from me. I’m poisonous, like a buttercup. Like a weed. And what happens to poisonous weeds? They get uprooted.’

            _The door to Asgore’s room opens, and you can hear retching sounds coming from deep inside it. Asriel hurries out, his nose scrunched up and brow furrowed. He quickly closes the door behind him, and lets out a breath that he seemed to have been holding. When he catches sight of Chara, standing alone and chuckling under her breath, he crosses over to her, a look of concern on his face._

_“Hey, are… are you okay?” he asks quietly. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”_

_“You heard your mom,” Chara says, grinning at him. “Heh. It was the buttercup’s fault.”_

_“…What?” Asriel asks. “I… I guess that’s true. It was the flowers’ fault in the end.”_

_“Right,” Chara says, laughing. “It was all the stupid flower’s fault. The stupid, poisonous, unwanted flower’s fault.”_

_“…Chara, are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little… out of it,” Asriel says, gently touching one of her shoulders._

_“Oh, I’m fiiiiine, Asriel,” she says, still grinning. “Don’t you worry about little ol’ me. I’m just going to be a good girl and go to our room, okay? You should go and make sure your dad’s okay, too.”_

_“But… Chara…”_

_“Go on, goat boy,” she insists. “He needs you right now.”_

_Asriel hesitates for a few moments, but eventually nods and slowly walks away, casting anxious glances at Chara over his shoulder. The moment that he disappears, Chara walks back towards their shared room, weaving ever so slightly in her path. She feels as if her entire world is crashing down around her, and it’s showing. She runs into a wall on accident, but she doesn’t even register the pain. She laughs is off, and continues on her way._

_Once she’s in the room, she shuts and locks the door. Then she crosses over her bed and gets onto her stomach, flattening herself and reaching her arm deep into the underbelly of her bed. She searches the ground, her fingers outstretched and anticipating the touch of… metal. She found it. Her hand wraps around the object, and she pulls it into the light._

_It’s… a fork. In and of itself, that’s not very alarming. But when you see that the ends have been sharpened to needle-like points, and you catch thoughts in Chara’s head like “she would have noticed if I took a knife,” you start to grow a little concerned._

_She smiles as it catches the light, and goes to roll up one of her sleeves, exposing the fleshy part of her arm. You can’t help but cringe as you catch sight of it. Her old cut scars are still there, though they’ve faded a bit after so much time. On top of those, there are hundreds of tiny dots. They almost look like freckles. Seeing Chara with the sharpened fork in her hand, though, you know that couldn’t be further from the truth._

‘I want to die,’ _she thinks. Then she shakes her head, screwing her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to think that way. She knows that she has a lot to live for, logically speaking… but she still can’t help the way she feels._

_She opens her eyes, and doesn’t even hesitate as she brings the fork down, puncturing her skin. Blood oozes from the fresh dots, and a wave of pain rushes over her. She sighs, relieved. The pain distracts her from her suicidal thoughts._

_It doesn’t last very long, though. The pain soon ebbs away, Chara’s unhappy thoughts returning in its absence._

‘I’m just a burden to them.’

            _She stabs herself again. And again, it’s only a temporary release._

            ‘I’m worthless.’

            _Another four puncture wounds appear on her arm._

‘Worse, I’m poisonous.’

            _The wounds almost look like snake bites from their place against Chara’s pale skin._

‘I should just _die_!’

            _Chara drives the fork in especially deep this time, and she hisses in pain. She leaves the fork in her arm for a moment, twisting it to try and keep that last thought at bay. It doesn’t work. Not even pain, it seems, is working anymore. Tears slip from her eyes as she yanks the fork out, and she bites back a scream. It’s not a scream of pain, but a scream of frustration—she doesn’t want to be like this, but she doesn’t know how to fix it, either._

_“Why can’t I just do something_ right _for once?” she asks herself aloud, her voice hushed. In her mind, everything that’s ever happened to her has been her fault. She thinks that if she could have done something differently, said something else, tried harder to make others like her… she may not have been abused the way that she had. “All I want is to do something good with my life!”_  

            _Chara throws the fork across the room, her frustration and pain roaring in her ears. It strikes her and Asriel’s shared bookcase, and causes one of the hand-made tomes to fall out of place. It lands on the floor cover-up, close enough that Chara can read it._

_She recognizes the book immediately. It’s one that Toriel made for her, from back when she had first fallen. It’s entitled “The Barrier.” From Chara’s head, you glean that Toriel had made it specifically to help her understand how the monsters were trapped, and, with more relevancy to her situation… why it would be impossible for a lone human to cross it._

_Seeing that book… gives Chara the beginnings of an idea._

_“They need seven souls to break it…” she says thoughtfully. “And a monster would need a human soul to cross it…”_

_Chara’s eyes widen, and a small smile makes its way onto her face._

_“I… have a human soul,” she says. “This is my chance. This is my chance… to do something_ good _.”_

_Chara, ignoring her bleeding arm, crosses over to the room and picks up the book. Then she sits down against her bed, and begins to flip through the pages…_

***

_Chara’s memories speed up again. In the weeks following the accident, Chara had spent an unusual amount of time studying books on monster history; particularly books about the barrier and the mechanics of souls. She’d started writing notes on a lot of it, and you get the feeling that she’s planning something… though you can’t tell what._

_When the memories return to their normal pace, you find yourself in some kind of throne room. Two gold and purple thrones are in the center of a large outdoor courtyard, lush green grass replacing the stone tile of the rest of the castle. Asriel is sitting on the larger throne, a look of pride on his face. When he sees Chara walking towards him, he waves, and then beckons her over._

_“What’re you doing?” Chara asks, giggling. “You know you’re not supposed to be up there.”_

_“Well, I should be!” Asriel exclaims, putting his hands on his hips. “I’m going to be king one day, you know!”_

_“Really?” Chara asks. “I thought you were going to be… hold on… I’m trying to remember… oh yeah! The ABSOLUTE GOD of HYPERDEATH!”_

_Chara strikes a pose as she says it, much to her brother’s dismay._

_“Chara!” he squeaks. “Come on, don’t make fun of it. I can be both!”_

_“Hee hee. Are you sure? Being king is a big responsibility, you know.”_

_“Oh, I do. A king has to look after all of his subjects, and make sure that everyone is happy!” Asriel exclaims, a sparkle to his eyes. “Like dad does. Oh, and you can be queen, Chara! You can make sure that I don’t do anything crazy—like mom.”_

_“I don’t think it works that way,” Chara points out. “The queen is married to the king, remember?”_

_“Oh… yeah…” Asriel mutters. “But I still think you’d be a good one! You could help me keep the kingdom happy.”_

_“Yeah…” Chara says, a little bit of sadness entering her voice. “Hey, Asriel?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“You want to make your future subjects happy, right?”_

_“Of course!”_

_“Well… I think I know a way we could do that,” Chara says. “Right now. You don’t even have to wait until you’re king.”_

_“R-really?!” Asriel exclaims, visibly excited. “That’s great, Chara! What do you have in mind?”_

_“…We could break the barrier.”_

_Asriel falls silent, staring at Chara in disbelief._

_“…How?” he asks, clearly skeptical. “We’re just a couple of kids, Chara. If dad and mom can’t break it, how could we?”_

_“Do… do you remember when dad got sick?” Chara asks._

_“You mean… when we accidentally poisoned him?” Asriel clarifies, looking ashamed. “Of course I do. How could I forget?”_

_“Well… Hold on, let me back up. You know I have a human soul, right?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“And you know that a monster with a human soul can cross the barrier, right?”_

_“…Yeah,” Asriel says, his eyes narrowing. He seems to be realizing where this is going._

_“Well… with my soul,_ you _could cross the barrier,” Chara says._

_“Well… I guess, technically,” he says slowly. “But… you’d have to be dead, remember? Mom says that a monster can’t absorb a human soul unless it’s completely separated from its body. Otherwise, we would have brought you back to the surface.”_

_“Yeah,” Chara says simply. “I know.”_

_“Chara… what are you saying? I don’t want you to die—”_

_“J-just hear me out, okay?” Chara asks, cutting off her brother’s protest. “If you took my soul, I wouldn’t really be dead. Mom told us about that, too—human souls don’t disappear like monster souls do. So, if you combined with my soul, I would still be alive—I’d just be inside of you. We’d still be able to talk to each other and everything.”_

_“I… I guess that’s true,” Asriel says, though he still looks uncertain. “But that’s just one soul—I don’t see how we’d be able to break the barrier.”_

_“Well, once we cross the barrier, it would be easy,” Chara explains. “All we would have to do is take six human souls, and bring them back with us.”_

_“Chara!” Asriel exclaims, looking horrified. “You want us to kill six people?!”_

_“They aren’t_ people _, Asriel!” Chara exclaims. “They’re humans._ Humans _! They trapped you all down here for no reason! They… they’re vile, evil creatures! They all lie, and cheat, and steal, and rape, and abuse each other… Monster don’t! Monsters are some of the nicest people that I’ve ever met. In all of my time on the surface, there wasn’t a single human that ever looked at me for who I was. When they looked at me, all they saw was a… a demon, even though I’d never done anything wrong!”_

_“Woah, woah—Chara, calm down,” Asriel says, putting his hands up._

_“I will_ not _calm down, Asriel!” she exclaims. “I hate them. I hate_ all _of them. They don’t_ deserve _to live up there. They treated me the same way that they would an animal, Asriel. And I wasn’t the only one. Do you know what a slave is?”_

_“A… slave?” Asriel asks, confused. “No. What’s that?”_

_“It’s a human that another human has bought as property. They have to do their master’s bidding, no matter how awful the task is. If they refuse, they die,” Chara explains. “_ I _was a slave. And a special kind of slave—I was a living sex toy.”_

_“Wha-what?!” Asriel exclaims. “What do you—”_

_“My master would rape me. Over, and over, and over again…” Chara hisses. “And that was only after my family locked me in a cellar and completely abandoned me. And even when I escaped from my master, no one would help me. There wasn’t a single human on this cursed planet that would so much as hide me.”_

_“Chara… I had no idea…”_

_“Those are the kind of people that live on the surface,” Chara says, her tone icy cold. “And then, there are the monsters. Before I met you, Asriel, there wasn’t a single person in this world that had showed me love. I didn’t even understand what that was, before I met you and mom and dad. Monsters are all such kind, caring people. You would never hurt anyone else without reason. You show everyone you meet love, and you all try your best to help others.”_

_“Not all monsters are good, Chara,” Asriel protests meekly._

_“Maybe not,” Chara admits reluctantly. “But there’s still more good monsters out there than there are good people. Just look at the war—not a single human was killed. Monsters, however, were slaughtered by the thousands.”_

_“I… I guess that’s true,” Asriel murmurs._

_“You spared them. The monsters spared the humans, even though they were trying to get rid of all of you,” Chara says. “Just think about that, Asriel. You could have killed them all. Monsters had the power to defeat them all—all they had to do was fuse with human souls, and they’d have so much power that the humans wouldn’t be able to so much as lay a hand on them. But instead, the monsters showed mercy. And what did you all get for your mercy? You were thrown into a giant hole in the ground, and left to rot. If it weren’t for your magic, you all would have died down here.”_

_“Yeah, that is pretty awful.”_

_“You monsters don’t deserve that,” Chara says, taking a step closer to Asriel. “_ You _should be the ones on the surface.”_

_“I guess… I mean, as much as I’d like to see the surface… I don’t want to kill anyone, Chara,” Asriel says._

_“Weren’t you listening, Asriel? They_ deserve _to die.”_

_“But Chara,_ you’re _human too,” he points out. “You’re condemning the entire human race to death. What if there are more people out there like you? Do_ they _deserve to die, too?”_

_“No,” Chara says. “But if they’re like me, than they would_ want _to die.”_

_“Ch-Chara?”_

_“Asriel… what the humans did… it messed me up, okay?” Chara says, her eyes getting misty. “It messed with my head. And there are hundreds, no,_ thousands _of people in the same position. They’re hurting Asriel. You could be the one to set them free.”_

_“I…”_

_“Don’t you see, Asriel? This is your chance. You can free the monsters, and save the people like me out there—the so-called “monsters” of humanity—that are hurting at the hands of the humans.”_

_“But Chara…”_

_“Please, Asriel?” Chara pleads. “I… I can’t do this without you. I need you. I… I could find another monster to help me, if I had to, but you’re the only person that I would want to fuse with. You’re my brother, Asriel, and I love you. If I have to spend eternity with someone, you’re the only person I’d willingly choose.”_

_“I… Chara,” Asriel whispers, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to see you die, Chara. Not even for something like this. It’s a good idea, but… We can wait until another human falls down—an_ evil _human. Y-yeah! That way, we can make everyone happy, but you don’t have to die!”_

_Chara shakes her head, starting to get frustrated with her brother._

_“You don’t understand, Asriel. No one else will ever fall down,” she says._

_“Why? You did, didn’t you?”_

_“I jumped, Asriel, remember?!” Chara exclaims. “The other humans are_ terrified _of Mount Ebott! They know that you guys live down here, and so they won’t come within a mile of the place!”_

_“But…”_

_“Asriel,” Chara murmurs, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been planning this for weeks. I know what I’m talking about—this is the only way we can free everyone.”_

_“Chara…”_

_Chara, having told him everything that she could to convince him, has only one tactic left up her sleeve._

_“Asriel… you trust me, don’t you?” she asks quietly._

_“I… Chara, come on. You know that I do.”_

_“Then help me. Please. This is something that I really want to do.”_

_Asriel gives Chara a long, searching, look. Chara stands firm, though. She looks him straight in the eye, her teeth set._

_“…Okay Chara,” Asriel says quietly. “I can see that you’ve already made up your mind. I… I’ll help you. What do you want me to do?”_

_Chara nods, a wave of relief rushing through her. She had been prepared to go to another monster, but she’s extremely glad that it’s her brother that she’ll be fusing with._

_“Well… mom and dad can’t know about this,” she says. “They… they wouldn’t like it. So, I’m going to have to make my death look like an accident.”_

_“How can you talk about this so calmly?” Asriel mutters. “You’re talking about killing yourself, Chara. Aren’t you scared?”_

_“…No. I’ve already decided,” she says, looking away. “It’s the deciding to do it that’s the hard part.”_

_“…Why didn’t you ever come to talk to me about this?” he asks quietly. “I knew that there was something wrong with you recently, but whenever I asked you about it, you just… brushed me off.”_

_“I knew that you would try to stop me,” Chara sighs. “Like I keep saying, I had already made up my mind. You wouldn’t have been able to change it.”_

_“…”_

_“Anyway, they can’t know that my death was intentional. So, I’m going to have to get sick,” Chara says. “...Do you understand, now?”_

_“…The buttercups. You want to poison yourself with buttercups,” Asriel says, his voice monotone._

_“Yeah.”_

_“I… I don’t like this plan, Chara.”_

_“I know. But it’s the only way.”_

_“You’re going to make a lot of people sad, you know. Mom and dad are going to miss you.”_

_“But we’ll make a lot more people happy,” Chara says. “You’re all going to be free. My life doesn’t mean anything if it saves all of you.”_

_“…But it_ does _matter, Chara.”_

_“…To you. It matters to you. Which is why I want to fuse with you, and not anyone else.”_

_“Okay. Okay, you win. What do you want me to do?”_

_“I need you to get some buttercups.”_

_“...Okay,” Asriel says reluctantly._

_He slides slowly off of the throne, and trudges in the direction of the throne room’s exit._

_“Are you sure about this, Chara?” he asks, looking over his shoulder._

_“I am,” Chara says. “Meet me in our room, okay? I need to look like I’ve been sick all day.”_

_Asriel nods silently, a terribly conflicted look on his face. Chara watches him until he disappears into the hallway. Then she turns and runs away, a broad smile making its way onto her face._

‘We’re going to free everyone.’

 

***Chara is filled with DETERMINATION.***

Suddenly, the memory cuts off. You’re back in Chara’s ocean of pain. This time, however… there’s something different about it. It’s not just “pain” anymore. You’re slowly beginning to tell what kind of pain it’s made up of. Something about it is familiar. You’ve felt this before, in your own life, and in your own body. It’s not just general pain… it’s _betrayal_. That, more than anything else, is what’s hurting her. Someone close to her had stabbed her in the back. …Just like she had done to you.

            That piques your curiosity. Who could have hurt her that much? It had to be someone that she trusted enormously. Someone that she would be willing to give her life for… Only one person comes to mind. But… they get along so well. What could Asriel have possibly done to make her feel this way? So, wanting answers, you take a deep breath, and dive back into the depths of Chara’s psyche.

 

**~Betrayal~**

 

_When you enter this next memory, it reminds you of when you first entered hope. Everything hurts. This time, though, it’s a different kind of hurt. Before, the pain had been external—it had come from cuts, bruises, and head trauma. This time, though… it’s coming from_ within _you. And it’s absolute hell._

_The first thing you notice is the heat. Even though Chara is stripped down to her underwear, and has a cooling cloth on her forehead, you feel as if you’re slowly baking in the world’s largest oven. Chara’s hair is practically soaked in sweat, and whenever she shifts, the sheets beneath her feel unbearably damp._

_Then you notice the burning. Your stomach is aching so badly you can hardly breath, but it doesn’t feel like a normal stomach ache, either. It’s almost as if Chara swallowed acid—like whatever’s sitting in her stomach is trying to disintegrate her from the inside out._

_Your throat is burning too, most likely from how often she’d been throwing up. There’s a bucket beside the bed, and it reeks of bile. You can also detect a more metallic scent in the air, almost like iron._

…Blood, _you think darkly._

_Now you know how Asgore must have felt._

_Chara’s alone for a moment, but it doesn’t last for long. The door to the bedroom opens, and her entire family soon surrounds her, their faces tight with worry._

_“Oh my child,” Toriel says quietly, putting one massive padded hand onto Chara’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”_

_She switches out the rag on Chara’s head for a fresh one, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she does so._

_“You need to work hard to get better, okay, dear one? I cannot do all the hard work myself, you know,” Toriel continues, her voice artificially light. She tries her best to smile, but it just as quickly fades away, disappearing back into that ever-present worry. Toriel sighs sadly, and lifts her hands._

_“Do… do not worry, my child,” she murmurs. “I am certain… that it will work this time.”_

_Purple magic spills from Toriel’s open palms and wraps around Chara, cocooning her in magic. If you were in her place, you would have cried in relief. The pain ebbs the moment that the magic makes contact, and you can feel the fever slowly starting to go down._

_Chara, however, is determined to go through with her plan. She shows no signs that the magic is working, and keep s her face in a carefully maintained mask of agony._

_Toriel eventually drops her hands, her magic fading, and her head hanging in defeat. A choked sob escapes from her, and Asgore quickly moves in to comfort her. He has tears shining in his own eyes, but like the strong ruler that he is, he remains calm and strong for the sake of others._

_“I-I do not understand, Asgore!” she exclaims. “Why is it not working?! I am trying as hard as I can, and yet… nothing.”_

_“I do not know,” he replies quietly. “I do not know.”_

_Another sob racks Toriel, and Asgore holds her ever closer, trying to comfort her with his embrace._

_“Come, Tori,” he says gently. “Perhaps we should go and consult Dr. Kuron. He may have some insight as to what is going on…”_

_“Yes,” Toriel agrees, hope flashing in her eyes. “He will know how to cure her. He… he must.”_

_Asgore supports Toriel as the two get up, and then hurry out of the room, leaving Chara and Asriel by themselves._

_“I… I don’t like this idea, Chara,” he murmurs, his eyes misty. He tries to blink his tears back, but they end up spilling down his cheeks instead._

_“Asriel,” Chara whispers hoarsely, her voice weak, “Are… are you crying?”_

_“Wh-what? N-No, I’m not…” he mumbles. “…Big kids don’t cry.”_

_“We need… to be strong, Asriel,” she whispers. “For them.”_

_“Yeah, you’re right,” he sniffs, wiping at his face. “But… but I…”_

_“Do you doubt me?” Chara asks._

_“No! I’d never doubt you, Chara,” he says. “…Never.”_

_“I know it’s hard… but we have to keep going,” she murmurs. “It’s the… only way.”_

_“Y… Yeah,” Asriel mutters. “I know.”_

_“We’re doing this… for them, remember,” she says quietly._

_“We’ll be strong. We’ll free everyone,” he confirms, gently taking Chara’s hand._

_“Yeah,” she agrees, a small smile on her face. “Asriel… I… I need more buttercups.”_

_“What?” he asks, eyes widening. “Why?”_

_“Mom’s healing magic… it’s working,” she explains. “I… I need more flowers.”_

_“…Okay,” he says, a quiet sense of resignation about him. “I’ll go get the flowers.”_

_Asriel takes his hand out of Chara’s, and goes to leave._

_“Wait!” she exclaims, weakly grabbing his hand again. “Asriel, I… I want to bring… my body… with us.”_

_He turns to look back at her, a questioning look on his face._

_“I want it… to be… in my village’s… flower fields,” she says. “To bring everything… full circle, you know?”_

_Asriel nods solemnly, and then leaves. Somehow, you don’t think he’d have agreed if he’d known the truth of Chara’s intentions; that she wants all of her old tormentors to see what their cruelty had done to her._

***

_Asriel came back with the buttercups, and, after a several hours of violent vomiting and diarrhea, Chara went unconscious. It was, in all honesty, a huge relief for you. While you’re still (inexplicably) in her body, at least you don’t have to be in a constant state of pain. She can’t feel anything while she’s out, and so, as a result… neither can you._

_So, now that there’s nothing going on, you have some time to think about everything that’s happened. While you think that Chara’s plan is awfully sad and her motives misguided… you can’t help but understand her reasoning. And, in some cases, you even agree with her._

_The monsters_ do _deserve to be free, and there are definitely a lot of messed up humans on the surface. I mean… hadn’t_ you _even considered, however briefly, the idea of giving up your own soul to break the barrier?_

_You stop for a moment to imagine what Sans’ face would look like if he were to see the sun for the first time. That look of unbridled awe and happiness… wouldn’t that be worth giving up your soul for? And then, multiply that look by several thousand. You would be freeing not only Sans, but every single monster in the Underground. Imagine, a look of euphoria on every single one of their faces…_

_Yes, you understand Chara’s desire all too well. Or, at least, you understand the_ justification _of her actions. There’s one simple fact that differentiates your dream from Chara’s. Her wish to break the barrier is, at its core, a wish for revenge. She knows full well that breaking the barrier at this point, with the war still fresh in the minds of participators on both sides, would cause a second war. She wants the humans to suffer for what they did to her, just as much as she wants the monsters’ freedom. …If not more. And, though a part of you feels that she is totally justified in her righteous fury, the other part of you knows that revenge will get her nowhere. Hate breeds hate, and anger breeds anger. It’s a cycle that, one started, can’t be broken… unless one side decides to offer up forgiveness._

_Suddenly, a voice breaks you out of your philosophical musings._

_“Chara… Can you hear me?” Toriel asks, her voice breaking. “We… we want you to wake up…”_

_“Chara! You have to stay determined! You cannot give up!” Asgore exclaims. “You are the future of humans and monsters…”_

_Chara stirs from her subconscious, waking up just enough to hear their words._

‘I am the future of humans and monsters,’ _she repeats to herself._ ‘I will save them all.’

            _“Psst… Chara… Please… Wake up,” Asriel whispers. “I don’t like this plan anymore. I… I… …no, I said… I said I’d never doubt you.”_

_He falls silent for a moment, as though he’s thinking hard on something._

_“Six, right? We just have to get six…” he murmurs. “And we’ll do it together, right?”_

_And with those final words… you can feel Chara’s heartbeat slowing down… and then… stopping… completely…_

***

 

            _You definitely didn’t expect to find yourself in another memory. Chara had died. Logically speaking, that should be it, right? But no, it couldn’t be. If she had really died, then how did she kill your brother? It doesn’t make sense._

_There’s something… different… about this memory. You feel… strange. Like you’re not… yourself. Does that make any sense? You’d gotten used to being in Chara’s body—so much so that it had started to feel a lot like your own. But now, you’re not in her body anymore… but someone else’s. Or… can you even call it a body? It feels so… fragile. As if it’s nothing but air and dust and magic._

_You shake the thought off, and take a look at your surroundings. Ahead of you, there’s a… you’re not even sure what to call it. It’s a shifting mass of pure energy. It glows the brightest of white, and yet also contains the darkest of shadows. Far in the distance, you can see the golden yellow shine of sunlight, as if at the far end of a tunnel._

_The figure that you’re inhabiting sighs heavily, and then looks down at something that it’s carrying. It’s… Chara. No. That’s not really her anymore, is it? It’s just her body. But then… where is…_

‘Are you ready, Asriel?’

_If you were in your own body, you would have flinched in surprise. You can still hear Chara’s thoughts, like you’d been able to when you were in her head. But… she actually sounds like she’s talking. She’s not just thinking, but she’s actually calling out to Asriel, and awaiting a response. What the heck is going on?!_

‘I… I guess,’ _comes the reply. That’s… Asriel. But… what? Where_ are _you, exactly?! You can’t be in both of their heads at the same time, can you?_

‘Oh, c’mon, Asriel!’ _Chara exclaims._ ‘You’re about to see the sun for the first time! Aren’t you excited?’

            ‘I… I guess when you put it like that… yeah!’ _he says._ ‘But… Chara, you’re dead. Am I just… supposed to be happy about that?’

            ‘Well… no, I guess not,’ _she replies hesitantly._ ‘But it’s really only my body that’s dead, right? I’m still here. I’m with you. Our souls are one now, Asriel. We’ll be together forever, just like we wanted.’

            _So… they actually did it. Asriel absorbed Chara’s soul, and they’re now living together in the same body. You don’t think it’s purely Asriel’s body, though. Something seems…_ off _about it. For one… you don’t think Asriel is this tall. And then, there’s the size of his hands, and your shared head seems unnaturally heavy…_

‘Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Chara,’ _Asriel says._

‘It’s okay,’ _Chara says happily._ ‘I know that I was asking a lot of you. But anyway, let’s not think about that anymore! Let’s cross the barrier, and then set everyone free!’

            ‘Yeah!’ _Asriel exclaims._

_They take a step forward, coming into contact with the barrier. For a moment, you think their plan didn’t work. The barrier presses against them, pushing them back. But then, with a grunt of effort, they force their way through. The barrier feels almost like syrup around them, thick and heavy. Their movement slows as they wade their way through the strange substance, their shared determination spurring them onwards despite the difficulty of their task._

_Eventually, they make it through. They step out of the Underground, squinting in the light of the sun. They’re on a ledge high up on Mount Ebott, close to the summit. Actually… you think you recognize this place. Frisk dragged you up here once for a picnic, if you remember completely. The view in Chara’s memory is very different than the one that you’re familiar with, though. You can still see the ocean in the distance, but Ebott City is nowhere to be seen. (Makes sense—it hasn’t been built yet.)_

_In its place, you can see a large field of Gorse flowers, with a large white building sitting at its center. A few log cabins dot the landscape here and there, but beyond that, the area is still completely wild. Trees mostly dominate the landscape to the west. They eventually peter out as they stretch eastward, to be replaced by the desert. On the other side of that, Ebott’s sister mountain—Mount Ost—looms, blocking your view of the horizon._

_The two siblings stand together in awe, completely enraptured by the beautiful spread of nature below them. This is Chara’s first time seeing this view, too—she hadn’t exactly stopped to enjoy the scenery when she climbed Mt. Ebott, running for her life as she was. They catch their breath, their eyes widening as they slowly get used to the light._

_“Wow…” they breath._

‘Chara… this is so… wow,’ _Asriel says._ ‘ _This_ is what the surface is like? It’s so… beautiful.’

            ‘I know,’ _Chara says._ ‘This is what you guys have been missing out on. But not for much longer, right? We only need six. Then, everyone will be free.’

            ‘Right,’ _Asriel agrees._ ‘So… where are we going? I don’t see any humans around here.’

            ‘Down there,’ _Chara says. She takes control of their body temporarily, and points to the field of golden flowers in the distance._ ‘That’s my village.’

            ‘Wow… that’s a long ways away,’ _Asriel notes, sounding a little bit intimidated._

‘Are you wishing that you had those rainbow wings, Mr. ABSOLUTE GOD of HYPERDEATH?’ _Chara asks teasingly._

‘H-Hey! Chara!’

            _Chara laughs from within the confines of their shared mind, her voice echoing throughout whatever space her soul occupies._

‘But anyway, if you want, I can take control for a while. I know the way, after all,’ _Chara offers._

‘Sure. When you get tired, though, make sure you tell me, okay? I don’t want you to have to do all the work by yourself.’

            ‘Got it,’ _Chara says. She smiles as she takes full control of their shared body, and starts on the long journey down the mountain. She can’t wait to see the looks on their faces…_

 

***

 

            _A few yards away from the village, Chara stops, and switches control back over to Asriel. The two of them are still in the line of trees that divides the flower meadow (and the town) from the rest of the forest, so they’re reasonably well hidden as they stop to examine their intended target._

_It’s pretty busy, for some reason. People are hurrying back and forth between houses with the fervor of ants marching back and forth between their nest and a fallen apple. Judging by the leaves changing on the trees, you’d say it might have something to do with harvest season. (But psht, what do you know? You’re not a farmer.)_

‘Wow… there sure are a lot of them,’ _Asriel says, a hint of fear in his mental voice._ ‘For some reason, I always thought that there were more monsters than humans.’

            _His grip on the tree in front of him tightens, and his teeth clench._

‘Am I… am I really going to have to fight them, Chara?’ _he asks._

            ‘…Yeah,’ _she replies softly. She knows that Asriel doesn’t want to do this, and she doesn’t want to have to force him, but… she can’t just give up, either. She gave up everything for this. She_ died _for this—to free the monsters, and to see terror splayed across her tormentors’ faces at the sight of a_ real _monster._ ‘I know you don’t want to, Asriel… but it’s the only way. You know that.’

            ‘Yeah…’ _he says reluctantly._ ‘I know.’

            ‘Hey, look on the bright side,’ _Chara says._ ‘You can try out your new magic! I can tell that it’s strong—the determination from my soul, mixed with the magic from yours… it’s a really powerful combination.’

            ‘I guess I _am_ kind of curious to see what we can do,’ _Asriel admits._

‘Well then… let’s go!’ _Chara exclaims._ ‘If we do it quickly enough, we can get six souls and then leave before they regroup—a surprise attack!’

            ‘R-right!’

            _Asriel grits his teeth, and steps out into the clearing. For a moment, nobody notices him. He walks out among the flowers, and crouches down._

‘You said you wanted to be with the flowers, right Chara?’ _he asks._

_Chara is silent for a moment. You think… that she might be crying._

‘…Yeah,’ _she says quietly._ ‘Thanks, Asriel.’

            _Asriel smiles to himself. Those few words from Chara made the whole trip worth it. Even if they don’t succeed, and they if they don’t end up breaking the barrier… at least he made his beloved sister happy._

_Suddenly, a scream resounds through the village. Asriel’s head shoots up, fear echoing throughout his soul. A young woman is staring at him, her eyes wide with horror. As Asriel makes eye contact, her arms begin to shake uncontrollably. The basket that she’d been carrying tumbles out of her hands, its freshly picked contents rolling along the ground._

_“M-Monster!” she screams again, scrambling back. “Monster!”_

_Every pair of eyes in the village turn to Asriel, filled with nothing but blind fear. For a moment… everyone is completely frozen, shocked at the sudden appearance of a monster so close to their homes._

‘Asriel, now’s your chance!’ _Chara exclaims._ ‘While they’re stunned!’

            _Asriel, however, isn’t listening to Chara. He’s not even paying attention to the scared and slowly shifting gazes of the humans. Instead, he’s looking at something in the back of the village. There are two children—a boy and a girl, about the same age as Asriel and Chara. Unlike the rest of their kin, they seem more curious than afraid. They watch Asriel with wondrous eyes, and one of them—the little girl—even waves to him. This takes Asriel aback, and… he starts to have second thoughts._

‘Ch-Chara,’ _he stammers._ ‘I thought you said… that they were evil.’

            ‘They are, Asriel!’ _Chara exclaims._ ‘Hurry, before they—’

            _She’s too late. The nearest human, an older man, notices Chara’s body laying among the flowers. The fear in his eyes is instantly wiped out, to be replaced by a blaze of anger. Without so much as a word, he reaches for his weapon—a musket, leaning precariously against his front door._

_He lifts it, and takes careful aim…_

‘Asriel, look out—’

_He fires, shooting Asriel clean through the shoulder. Asriel rears back and cries out, clutching at his new wound._

‘Asriel, are you okay?!’ _Chara shrieks._

_Asriel doesn’t answer. He’s too focused on the activities of the rest of the village._

_With that first shot, the other humans are awoken from their haze of shock. The men of the group go for their guns, and the women shrink back, pushing their children behind them. Their judgmental stares, however, are just as damaging as their husbands’ weapons._

_Asriel quickly scoops up Chara’s body and stands up, slowly backing up towards the trees. He doesn’t get very far. The sound of leaves crunching under the feet of several people emanates from the woods behind them, and you can hear muffled shouts coming from the same direction._

_They’re surrounded._

‘Asriel… they’re dangerous,’ _Chara warns._ ‘If you don’t do something quickly… this could get bad. _Really_ bad.’

            _Asriel still doesn’t answer. He’s trembling ever so slightly, fear completely encompassing his mind. However, even though there are several guns trained directly at him… it’s not his wellbeing that he’s worried about. His gaze is still trained on the two children. Their mother had joined them, and everything that she’s doing… the way that she’s protecting them, the quiet assurance in her voice, her cautious glances in his direction… they remind him of his own mother._

_These aren’t just nameless, mindless humans. These are people. People just like Chara, and just like… just like the monsters. They may look different, but the two races act so similarly… They’re only attacking him because they’re scared, that’s all. He knows that he has to kill six of them to free the rest of his kind, but… he just can’t bring himself to do it._

_And Chara can sense it._

‘Asriel, what are you doing?!’ _she cries._ ‘We had a plan, remember?! It’s too late to turn back now!’

            _The humans in the forest burst out of the trees behind Asriel, forcing him to move closer to the village. They’re corralling him._

‘Ch-Chara… I can’t. They’re just like us,’ _he murmurs._

_Just then, one of the humans shouts something. From so far away, you can’t make out what it is. Moments later, every single man in the group cocks their gun, and looks down the barrel._

‘No, they’re not, Asriel!’ _Chara exclaims._ ‘Look, they’re about to attack you!’

            ‘I won’t kill them, Chara!’

            ‘I thought you said that you trusted me! I thought you said that you didn’t doubt me! Was that all a lie?!’

            ‘No, Chara! No! I _do_ trust you! I believe you when you say that they were horrible to you, but there are still innocents among them, Chara—just look over there! Those kids are just like us!’

            _The man that called out before says something else. He seems to be calling the shots. …Wow. Now isn’t the time to be making puns. But anyway, the men are taking careful aim, and their fingers are tightening against the triggers._

‘Asriel, I _died_ to free all of you!’ _Chara exclaims._ ‘Are you really just going to throw away my sacrifice like that?!’

            _Asriel goes silent. The world almost seems to move in slow motion as the men fire their guns, bullets flying through the air as though it were made of syrup. He sighs, and stares down at the ground._

‘Chara… I just can’t,’ _he says._ ‘I can’t kill them.’

            ‘But… if you don’t… they’ll kill you.’

            ‘Remember what you said about us monsters, Chara? That we’re good, and kind, and merciful?’

            ‘…I remember.’

            ‘If I were to kill these people… I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t _be_ that anymore, would I?’

‘Asriel,’ _Chara protests, her voice breaking._ ‘They deserve it! _They_ killed me, Asriel. It was what they did to me that made me kill myself!’

            ‘I’m sorry, Chara.’

            _The bullets hit. Asriel’s fragile magic-made body can’t handle the force of so many bullets at once, and it starts to deteriorate. Still, though, Asriel doesn’t fight._

‘Asriel, they’re killing you!’ _Chara screams._ ‘Fight back! Fight back, or you’ll die!’

            _The commander says something else, and another spray of bullets rushes in Asriel’s direction. Asriel cries out when they make their mark, but he still doesn’t do anything to end it. He just clutches Chara’s body closer to him, his teeth gritted._

‘Asriel, you promised!’

            _More bullets._

‘Asriel, you’re dying! You have to fight back!’

            _Yet another round of bullets._

‘Asriel… please…’ _Chara cries, her voice weak. If she still had a physical body, she would undoubtedly have tears streaming down her face._ ‘I don’t want to die again…’

            _Asriel turns and starts back towards the mountain, dust starting to form at the edges of his body. It flies off of him as he walks, hanging in the air long after he passes by. The humans that would have blocked his retreat shrink back as he approaches, unintentionally allowing him to pass._

‘Asriel… I don’t want to go back,’ _Chara whispers._

_Each of Asriel’s breaths is a struggle, and he can hardly put one foot in front of the other. He keeps going, though. Seeing him retreat, the humans stop firing. They’re looking on in confusion, wondering why the monster didn’t try to defend itself._

‘I did this for you, Asriel. You deserve to live up here.’

            _Through the trees, Asriel spots a child. It’s the girl from before. She’d somehow managed to get away from her mother, and is now watching Asriel with a concerned look on her face. The sight of it warms Asriel heart, and it further cements his decision. He was right to spare them. They don’t deserve to die._

‘I… just wanted to do something right for once…’

            _Asriel pauses next to the girl, and looks down at her with a tender expression on his face. She stares up at him, her bright blue eyes shining in the light that filters through the trees. It’s at that moment that Chara breaks completely._

‘You care more about them… those… those _demons_ … than you do about me,’ _she says numbly._ ‘…I suppose that’s to your credit. I’m nothing but a buttercup, after all.’

            _Asriel doesn’t answer._

‘I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. I’ll break the barrier on my own,’ _Chara mutters._ ‘I’ll set the monsters free. That will fix everything. The world will right itself if I free the monsters.’

            _You don’t understand her logic. Maybe, at this point… logic doesn’t even matter to her anymore. Even in death, you’re still connected to her soul. And Asriel’s refusal, no matter how well intentioned it was… is making that already battered soul break completely._

**_*Chara is filled… with DETERMINATION*_ **

****

_Chara screams, all of her conflicting emotions combining into a single desperate cry of agony. And with that… everything goes dark. Chara has somehow separated herself from Asriel. You can’t feel the young goat monster’s soul anymore. His thoughts are completely gone from your head, and his presence seems to be infinitely far away… Chara’s soul must be floating helplessly in the middle of the forest. You can’t think of any other explanation for this sudden… loneliness._

_Then, you can feel someone’s hands on you. Chara perks up considerably, and chuckles to herself. Whatever’s happening… it’s exactly what she wanted. Suddenly, there’s a rush of movement, and you find yourself facing… a soul. You’re not entirely sure what’s going on. Blackness is everywhere, and there’s nothing else here except for the two souls. One of them is Chara’s. The other… the other you don’t recognize._

_It’s a small, pale pink soul. However, that’s not what commands your attention. No. It’s the small, barely visible crack that runs down its center that worries you. You can see the barest traces of silver from inside it, but the crack isn’t wide enough for the little soul to lose its determination. Chara chuckles, her voice resounding throughout the black space._

_“…Perfect,” she purrs. Her soul squares up from its place facing the pink soul, and then… it rushes towards it, heading straight for the crack on its surface. When she makes contact, the pink soul flinches, and seems to be trying to fight back… but it doesn’t work. Chara’s soul stretches itself into a shape not unlike a snake, and worms its way into the damaged soul…_

_Chara gasps, and her eyes shoot open. She’s laying on her back, the leaves of the trees swaying gently in their place high above her. She blinks for a moment, somewhat disoriented. Then she smiles, the movement feeling foreign on her face after her time without a body. She raises her hands, and examines them closely, turning them so they catch the light. Wait… but that’s not right. Chara’s… dead, right? How does she have hands? How is she alive?_

_Then you notice… that those aren’t_ her _hands. They’re too tan, and callous._

_“It worked,” she murmurs to herself. “I did it.”_

_From somewhere deep inside of her… a soul is in pain. It’s crying out, but can’t seem to find a way to express itself. Their body stays completely silent._

Oh my god… _you think, horrified._ She… did she… but she wouldn’t, would she? After everything she’s been through, surely she wouldn’t…

            _“Well… I’m not dead, so I guess it worked,” she mumbles to herself. “That was really risky—if I were wrong, my soul would’ve shattered. I guess it really is possible for a human to possess another human.”_

…Just like she did to Frisk.

            _Chara smiles and sits up, her now-amber hair falling around her face. Her smile falls, however, when she sees Asriel lumbering away in the distance, his form still slowly turning to dust._

_“…Asriel,” she whispers._

_And then… just when everything was starting to get good… everything fades… to black._

**~Void~**

You gasp, your mind whirling as you suddenly find yourself back in your own body. You’re still standing, but the moment that you come back to yourself, you legs turn into glorified noodles, and you fall to your knees. It feels like it’s been an eternity since you’ve been yourself, and so your motor skills have taken a temporary turn for the worse.

            You heave as you struggle to catch your breath, your chest—and, by extension, your soul—feeling tight after so much time spent in perfect sync with Chara’s own soul. Your soul isn’t in front of you anymore, and has returned to its relatively safe position within you.

            _That… was intense,_ you think, still somewhat discombobulated. _I… She… I don’t…_

You would have continued to try and gather your thoughts, but you’re caught off guard by a… a vaguely familiar, but entirely unexpected sound. Sobbing.

            You look up, and find that Chara is in a similar position to you, on her hands and knees with her head lowered. Her hair forms a curtain around her face, but that doesn’t do anything to hide the fact that she was the sound’s source—you can see her tears falling to the void’s non-existent floor.

            “Do… do you really want to know me that badly?” she asks quietly. Her hands curl into fists, and before you can say anything, she emits a harsh laugh. “Do you really want to know my whole life story… so badly?”

             She starts shaking, and her tears fall at an even faster rate.

            “Chara…” you murmur. “I… I want to understand you, that’s all.”

            “You want… to understand me?” she asks, her voice icy cold. “Hah. What a joke. _No one_ can understand me.”

            “I… I think I was in your memories just now. I saw—”

“I know what you saw!” she shouts. Her head shoots up to look at you, and her entire face is wet with sweat and tears. Her eyes are red—and you don’t just mean her irises. They’re blood shot and strained, as if she’d managed to cry an entire river in the time that you’d been in her memories. “You made me relive it all! Every. Fucking. Moment!”  

            Your heart skips a beat. She’d… she’d been there too? That whole time? And if she had to relive everything… oh god. The physical pain that you must have put her through was… and then there was the emotional scarring… oh god. What have you done?

            “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you’d—”

“Save it,” she spits. “I don’t want your pity.”

            Chara staggers to her feet, tears still silently slipping down her ghostly cheeks. She seems dizzy, because she stumbles, before just as quickly catching herself.

            “But… all you’ve went through… I…”

            “I said SAVE IT!” she screams. Her eyes go completely black—blacker than the abyss around her. She doesn’t stop crying, though. Black tears spill down her face, leaving mascara-like trails wherever they go. …It reminds you of that painting she made. “I don’t need you, and I don’t need anyone!”

            “But…”

            “Shut UP!”

            A knife materializes in her hand, and she lunges at you. You screw your eyes shut, and await the inevitable feeling of cold steel against your flesh. But… it doesn’t happen. You cautiously open one eye. She’s standing nearly a foot away from you, the hand holding her knife shaking uncontrollably. She sniffs, and then… drops the knife. Chara follows soon after, dropping to her knees again.

            Her blackened eyes are dead as she stares at you, unfeeling. She doesn’t so much as blink. You cautiously reach out to her, thinking that this might be your chance to finally get through to her… but before you can, she disappears into thin air, before reappearing a few feet further away. Just far enough that she’s out of your reach.

            “I… I could hear you, you know,” she says dully. “Your thoughts. Your feelings… your soul.”

            You don’t say anything, knowing that doing so might trigger her again. She falls silent for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts.

            “You don’t understand. I’m not some poor innocent child that went insane,” she says. “I chose this. I _chose_ to be like this. Everything was my fault, in the end.”

            “But if you hadn’t had to go through all of that… you wouldn’t have made those choices,” you point out, daring to voice your opinion. “While I agree that you aren’t blameless, you can’t exactly say it’s all your fault, either.”

            “…You haven’t heard the rest of the story,” she mutters. She looks at you, not so much as a drop of emotion in those black eyes of hers. “When I took over that girl’s body… I went back to the village. I integrated myself with the locals, pretending to be her. It was easy. She was just a kid. No one really paid much attention to her. Do you know what the crack on her soul was caused by? Neglect. Her parents would go for days without remembering to feed her. They had four other kids to care for, and she sometimes just… faded into the background. That was lucky for me, though. It was that crack that allowed me to enter, and her neglect kept the others from noticing that anything was wrong.

            “That’s how I took over all of my hosts. I can’t take over a person’s body unless their soul is broken in some way—unless they’ve been hurt, and need something to fill up the gaps left behind,” she explains. “I fill them. They would fight against me for a while, but eventually… they’d go comatose, and I wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore. Oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”

            “I wanted to break the barrier. It was a stupid, _stupid_ goal… but it was what kept me going. So, I came up with a plan. I would find a child in the village with a pure, unblemished soul… a _powerful_ soul… and give them to the monsters. I would take them up Mount Ebott, and push them into the abyss,” she says. “The monsters would find them, and at least _one_ of them would kill them for their soul. Like Asriel said… not _all_ monsters are good. _Someone_ would be selfish, and take the child’s life for the good of the kingdom.”

            “I didn’t do it all at once, though. The villagers would realize what I was doing, and kill me on the spot. So… I bided my time. Every fifty years, I would take one child, and lure them up Mt. Ebott, in order to give them to the monsters. When my host grew too old, I would find another hurt, broken child, and fill the gaps in _their_ soul,” she continues. “The strange disappearances didn’t go unnoticed, though. The locals eventually put two and two together over the years, and associated Mt. Ebott with the disappearances. You know the saying: ‘Those that climb the mountain never return.’ Even though monsters and the war faded away into legend, that saying remained, being imprinted in the minds and hearts of those villagers’ children… and their children’s children…”

            “Charlotte was my tenth or so reincarnation. I took her over when she was just a toddler,” she says. “Then I met you. Your soul was one of the brightest that I’d ever seen, and I decided that you’d make a perfect fifth soul. That’s why I made friends with you. But then… you introduced me to your brother. Your soul is powerful, but your brother’s… well… it was even more so. I continued being your friend in order to get close to him, and wait for the perfect opportunity to bring him to Mt. Ebott. It came on that day when you asked me to pick him up for you.”

            Chara chuckles, her brow furrowing.

            “That was the first time that I’d ever felt… conflicted… about the task that I’d assigned myself. Your brother… he was so sweet, and in some ways, he reminded me of As—of my own brother. But I moved past my conflict easily enough. I only had one goal, and that was to break the barrier. Nothing else mattered. That was the only reason that I existed. My determination to free the monsters is what kept my soul from breaking completely.”

            “And so… I lured him up Mt. Ebott. It was easy enough to trick him into following me—he was a brave soul, and he loved you more than anything else in the whole world. All I had to say was that you’d gotten lost in the woods, and he practically _ran_ all the way there himself, raring to go save you,” she says. “But that isn’t to say that he was dumb. He figured out pretty quickly that something was wrong. He tried to run. I didn’t have any choice, and I… killed him. That was the first time I’d ever done that—killed somebody, I mean.”

            “It felt so… so _good_. I felt so powerful, and in control… something that I’d never felt before in my entire life. No matter what happened to me, it was never by my choice. But being able to end someone’s life like that…”

            Chara sighs, a happy smile crossing her face.

            “Finally, after hundreds of years… _I_ was finally the one in control,” she says. “And then… I came by a realization. I didn’t need to break the barrier. Why should I? Why should I work so hard to free someone that abandoned me, just like everyone else had? They didn’t deserve it. And if the monsters don’t deserve it… then no one does. This whole world is dead. It’s rotten, and dying.”

            “But… the deed had already been done. I’d killed Justin. And so, I figured I might as well deliver his soul. The problem was that his soul wasn’t appearing. He wasn’t quite dead yet. So, I dragged his corpse up the mountain with me. When his soul eventually appeared, I took it, and went into the Ebott Caves with it,” she continues. “I went to drop it into the abyss, but I tripped on a vine, and fell in. My host landed head first, killing her instantly. I was immediately ejected from her body, and I eventually found myself back in my own… somehow. Toriel buried my body underneath the opening of the abyss, and I guess I was forced back into it. Charlotte and Justin’s souls became the fifth and sixth souls to enter the Underground, albeit dead.”

            “I’d been foiled at the last moment. All I needed was one more soul, but now I was trapped in my dead body, and slowly going comatose. Luckily for me… I didn’t have to lure the seventh human here. Frisk fell in all on her own,” she says. “That didn’t help me, though. Most of the time, her soul was completely whole. Untouchable. I can’t infiltrate a soul if the door isn’t left open to me. But then… she reset. I had no idea what was going on, at first. But then as it happened again… and again… I got an idea.”

            “I could use her resets to my own advantage. I didn’t care about breaking the barrier anymore. But if I could take over Frisk somehow, I could get her to kill. Not only would that be a huge stress reliever, but I could absorb a monster soul. …Or a few hundred. I could vaguely remember the power that had flowed through the fused body of me and Asriel, and I wanted to feel that again. If I had enough power… I could end everything. Nobody deserves to live. The pain that everyone causes each other is just making the world into a cesspool of misery. Instead of freeing the monsters… I could save _everyone,_ monster and human alike.”

            “So, the next time that she reset… I reached out to her, and I told her something. I told her that the monsters are evil and bloodthirsty, just like the legends claim. I scared her enough that she went out… and killed the first monster that came across. The act of killing caused her soul to fracture, just like I’d intended. And… I slipped inside.”

            “I would cross the Underworld, killing and growing stronger. Every time I neared my goal, though… that _comedian_ would always thwart me at the last moment. Even though he’d lost everything, and everyone that he loved was gone… he still stood against me, assuming that I meant the world harm. Hah. No. I want to take the seven souls, and erase everything. Then, finally, we can all be at peace.”

            Chara hesitates, and stares you straight in the eye.

            “I’m sorry for what I did to you. Really, I am,” she says. “I never meant to hurt you. It was just a side effect of what had to be done. It was the only way.”

            You feel as if you’ve been turned to ice. After seeing her memories, you’d started to empathize with her. You’d thought that she was just a poor, abused child that had unintentionally gone down the wrong path. But now, listening to her talk about all of this so calmly… it’s making you second guess yourself.

            This whole “seven soul” thing… it was by design. It wasn’t just an accident that the kids had fallen into the Underground. It had all been Chara. All along, she had been pulling the strings. She’d basically shepherded six children to their dooms, and then took over Frisk to gain the power to destroy the world.

            But even as you say that, you can still see the poor little four-year-old girl sitting in a cellar, all alone in the darkness.

            …You don’t know what to believe anymore.

            “(Y/N)… please, you know what it’s like,” she says. “You’ve been through a lot. I know you have—when your soul connected with mine… I saw a few of your memories.”

            “You were abandoned, just like I was. Your parents killed themselves without so much as thinking about the situation that put you in,” she says. “I saw all of those years that you were on your own in that cabin, trying to take care of frisk the best that you could.”

            You look away, unwilling to maintain eye contact with Chara. You don’t want to reminded of that. You’d tried to make do with what you had, but you were still just a minor. Between dodging the child protective services and trying to make ends meet without a job… times were hard. You had to put up with depression and crippling loneliness, all the while keeping up a front for Frisk.

            “This world is marred beyond repair, (Y/N),” she presses, seeing your hesitation. “With your soul, we could end all of this. No one would ever have to feel the way we do—never again. Everything could be wiped clean, and we could raise a new, better world from the ashes. Join me, and we can set everything right.”

            For a moment… you’re tempted. One of your biggest fears is that Frisk will end up like you did. Desperate, alone, and holding a gun in her hand. But… she’s ignoring all the good in this world. Frisk is one example. And Papyrus…

            “Chara…” you say. “I won’t.”

            She stares at you, a look of complete disbelief on her face.

            “You… won’t?” she echoes. “How… interesting.”

            You’re about to explain why, but she doesn’t give you the chance. She stands in one fluid motion, her eyes still dripping with that strange black fluid. Her knife appears in her hand, and she takes a slow step towards you.

            “Well… then there’s no reason for you to be here, is there?”

            “Ch-Chara!” you exclaim, taking a step back. “Please, just listen to me. You’re right! I _am_ a lot like you. I can’t possibly understand the depths of your pain, but I can at least say that I’ve been in a similar position. I’ve been where you are. I… I can _help_ —”

            “You just don’t listen, do you?” she asks quietly. “I don’t want your help. I don’t _need_ your help. I’ve put my trust in others before, and do you see where it led me?”

            She takes another step towards you.

            “What about Asriel, Chara?” you ask.

            “…Asriel?” she echoes, cocking her head to the side. “What about him? In the end, he was just like everyone else. I loved him like a brother. I _died_ for him. And what did he do? He chose _them_ over _me_.”

            “That’s not—”

            “What, that’s not true? Of course it is. What else would you call it then, oh wise one?”

            …You can’t think of anything to say.

            Chara takes another step forward, running her knife across her fingertips.

            “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life. You know that, don’t you? You’re the only person that’s standing between me, and my goals. If you won’t give me your soul willingly…”

            She suddenly disappears, only to reappear directly in front of you. One of her arms wraps around your back and draws you in, while the other holds her knife against your throat. You would gasp in surprise, but you can feel the blade cutting into your skin with even your slight breaths.

            “…I’ll just have to take it from you, old friend~”

            You hold your breath, your heart beating a mile a minute as fear slowly encompasses your soul. You both know that she can’t really take your soul. Not when she’s here, in the void… but that doesn’t mean that you’re happy with the idea of having your throat slit.

            Suddenly, a garbled voice resounds through the void. You… recognize it. But for the life of you… you just can’t place it. It’s like your brain is searching for a memory that no longer exists. Error 404. Chara growls under her breath and presses the knife closer to your throat, a look of distain on her face.

            “The old man doesn’t like it when I mess with you,” she mutters. “Oh well. I guess I’m going to have to cut our little conversation short.”

            The knife bites deeper into your throat, and you gurgle pathetically as blood rushes out of it.

            “But don’t mistake this as mercy, (Y/N),” she whispers. “This isn’t over. You’d better watch your back from now on—I may not let you off so easily next time.”

            And with that, she forces her knife clean through your neck, completely decapitating you. There’s a scary moment where you’re looking at the world from upside-down… but then everything flashes red, and you wake up in your bed, drenched in a cold sweat, and heart racing a mile-a-minute.

 

Author’s Note #2

            Mwah ha ha. What do you think, oh readers of mine? It wasn’t an accident that the six children fell into the Underground. It was all by design… all part of the grand plan. :P

            But anyway, I’ve got a lot to say this time. Firstly… I have a Patreon account now! Yaaay! If any of you ever feel like supporting me, you can go check it out here: https://www.patreon.com/Zana_B_Sparrows. Every little bit counts. (Oh, but don’t worry. I also accept payment in pats in the back and well thought out comments. I love you guys. XD)

            Secondly, there’s going to be a new update schedule. It was effect these last few weeks, but I guess I forgot to make a note of it. So, I have a month left before school starts. And… I have three AP assignments I have to finish by then. So, being the responsible student that I am… I’m going to be alternating between writing and doing my AP lit + APUSH homework. So, you can expect new chapters every 2-3 weeks. (Sorry about that guys.)

            Oh! And some of you more perceptive readers may have noticed that I changed the over world golden flowers from “buttercups” to “Gorse flowers. That’s because the golden flowers only appear in the Underground once Asriel returns from the surface, and so it can’t be buttercups. 

            Also, MGE and WTSM will be conjoining soon, so you should start reading MGE if you haven’t already. It will become plot important in the future, so you can consider it as an official chapter/chapters of WTSM. (Or you can wait until the point that they conjoin, I guess, but MGE is starting to get kind of long, and it’s still in progress, so it’d probably be wise to start now.)

            That’s it for right now, guys! I will have an important announcement coming out soon, so keep an eye out for that—it will be in the next update of WTSM. I would include it here, but I think the chapter is long enough as it is. It’s 55 pages, guys. Wow. That’s impressive, even for me.

            Until next time~

 

 

 


	25. IMPORTANT NOTICE: TEMPORARY HIATUS

Hey guys! So, um... WTSM is going on hiatus for a little while. I'm sorry that I didn't mention it earlier--I've been talking about it constantly on Quotev, but I guess I forgot to mention it on here. So... yeah. There's a lot more than I could say, but I don't really want to have to transfer everything from Quotev onto here... so I'll just give you a link. I suggest you check it out--I'm holding a contest of sorts for WTSM, and I'm sure there are a few writers or artists out there that would be interested. https://www.quotev.com/story/7735410/When-Two-Souls-Meet-Sans-x-Reader/24


	26. August 27th Update

 

  
**Author's Note**

        Hey guys! Before you go "What?! It's just an Author's Note? This sucks," let me tell you this--THERE IS A NEW CHAPTER! (Two, actually.) They're just... not in here. I was originally going to make them the last chapters before WTSM goes on hiatus, but then I realized... that they're perfect for the new one-shot booklet that I'm releasing today. And so... instead of posting it here, you can find both of them [in the WTSM official One-shot booklet. Go ahead and check it out!](https://www.quotev.com/story/8355457/Sans-x-Reader-One-Shot-Booklet-WTSM)  
        But don't leave just yet! As some of you may know, today... is my birthday! And so... I have three gifts for you. One, my face reveal. For today and today only (or... I might extend it to tomorrow, just so everyone gets the notice in time), my profile picture (on Quotev) is actually my real face.   
        Two! The one-shot booklet is finally being published, after three weeks of development! YAAAAAY! So, again, check out that link above to go and take a look at it. The booklet is an ongoing project, and so I will be updating it as often as I can with both your contest entries, and my own personal oneshots. And, just so there's no confusion, all of MY oneshots are technically official chapters of WTSM. So, again, WTSM isn't really on hiatus, but is instead being exported to this new story. So if you want to continue getting chapters of WTSM, I suggest you favorite the one-shot booklet. ;-)  
        And... three. (Note how unenthusiastic I am about this one.) I, uh... I wrote a parody of "Still Alive" from Portal for all of you guys. Yup. Because... I don't even know. I love all of you, and I just kinda came up with it while I was singing in the shower, and... yeah. So, I'm going to post that here for you. Because... um... why not? (Zana is cringing as she writes this.)   
        The Original Song (cover by me): [drive.google.com/open?id=0B1sXDg...](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B1sXDgbE2dneOU9HNUE2czd4X2c)  
        Aaaand my super cringy parody of it: [drive.google.com/open?id=0B1sXDg...](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B1sXDgbE2dneX2U1MXpid2pPOEE)  
        (I know... it's awful. But whatever. I made it, so I might as well post it.)   
        That's it, guys! I probably won't be publishing anything in WTSM for a while, so if you want to stay in touch with ZanaTale, I suggest you follow these two stories: [My Greatest Experiment (Skelebros' Origin Story)](https://www.quotev.com/story/8010767/My-Greatest-Experiment-Skelebros-Origin-Story) and [Sans x Reader One-Shot Booklet (WTSM)](https://www.quotev.com/story/8355457/Sans-x-Reader-One-Shot-Booklet-WTSM.)


	27. Oh... Oops

So um... funny story. I completely forgot this site existed. XD

I am so, SO sorry about that, guys. Especially those of you that really liked the story--I came back to something like 40 comments. 

But uh... in any case, I don't really use this account on AO3 anymore. But!

There IS more of WTSM. It's just... not here.  

If you wanna continue reading, you can find it on either Quotev, or Wattpad. I'll leave the links below. 

Again, I'm so SO sorry that I've taken so long. Please don't kill me. T-T

 

https://www.quotev.com/ZanaBSparrows/published

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks


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